The Chronicles of Camelot: The Snake, The Boy and the Chamber
by blackshadow111
Summary: The world is a far older and better place than the muggles believe. Harry Potter knows this very well indeed. Watch as the heir of Alexander and Arthur takes a world rotting in its mediocrity, and turns it into a utopia. With unlimited resources, an icy, brutal ruthlessness and an unparalleled mind, no one can stand in his way. No Romance, Amoral, Political Harry.
1. Chapter 1: The Prince is Born

Chapter one: The Prince is born

**30th July, 1980**  
** 10:30 PM**

**Potter Manor,**  
** Wales**

Lily Potter slept. She had just finished the last preparations for childbirth, completing spells and taking final doses of potions, not to mention the numerous rituals, both those symbolic as well as those of very tangible power.

All entailed in being the bride of one of the oldest houses in Britain, and the mother of its heir, of course.

She'd grumbled endlessly, but they were all done now, thankfully. As the tiredness of the day lulled her deeper into her own mind, it opened to that connection every human held to the other place, the realm of dreams.

Soon enough, an image spread across her mind, of herself….sleeping?

How droll, she was dreaming of herself asleep. But even as she watched, the dream changed. She saw her fiery hair swaying and flicking as the wind picked up …_ In a closed room... _

Or, rather, a formerly closed room. As the wind raged, she realized that the walls had disappeared. She was in what looked like a forest clearing, in the middle of a storm. And what a storm! She watched, transfixed, as again and again, bolts of lightning struck the earth, some mere inches from her sleeping self. And she screamed in horror as she watched the largest of those thunderbolts descend to the earth in slow motion, somehow aware that this one would not miss her, by however close a margin.

Sure enough, she watched it strike her nine months pregnant belly, and screamed, this time not in horror, but in very real pain. As her vision darkened, she couldn't help but think she remembered this from somewhere.

Almost immediately the darkness cleared, and the roof of the same room where she'd fallen asleep swam into view. It was then that she realized what the pain was. Her contractions had begun. Her child was coming.

Almost one and a half hour later,Hadrian James Potter, the Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter, The Thirty-Fifth Earl of Wilmington, Five thousand Six hundred and ninety third Lord of the Bloodline of the Vessel Makers, and the Forty-sixth Warden of the Northern islands opened his eyes to the world for the first time.

* * *

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry **  
**Thirteen Years Later**

Harry Potter was scared. He was standing near Hogwarts' lake with his catatonic godfather; shaking as monstrous soul sucking fiends descended upon them to do what they did best, which was to turn healthy living beings into empty shells devoid of a soul.

He watched, helpless, as they came closer and closer. A little ball of light levitated out of the mouth of the only person in the world that he called family. With a jolt, Harry realized he was looking at his godfather's _soul_ coming out of his body. Now desperate, he prayed, begged and cried, for someone to save them, at his own uselessness, and for what he had done to the only person who cared for him. He tried conjuring a Patronus, again and again, never getting anything more than mist. It was all hopeless, he thought as he watched a dementor descend and swallow the ball in one smooth motion.

At this, he slumped, unwilling to fight any further. It was pointless anyway. If he couldn't save Sirius, what right did he have to live? The Dursleys had been right after all, he was good for nothing, a freak, utterly useless, a burden on the earth. Such thoughts overpowered his mind, pulling him deeper and deeper into depression, even as a fate worse than death glided closer with every second.

And then he felt it. As the dementors drew closer, as they laid waste to greater and greater parts of his mind, he felt something snap within , followed by a scream of unearthly rage and pain. Through blinking eyes he saw a tiny black ball, diseased and mutilated, flow out of his scar into the mouth of the dementor closest to him.

The vision was put aside in his mind, though, as his world , raw, undiluted power, coursed through him, rising from his blood, his soul. It was different from any magic he'd ever cast before: Older, purer, and a million times deeper. And with the power, came clarity. What the hell was he thinking? He wouldn't_die,_ he couldn't! He was Lord Voldemort! The Greatest Wizard on Earth!

No he wasn't, he was Harry Potter, a below pathetic student with three years of mediocre magical education.

But this was not the time to have an identity crisis. He needed to _SURVIVE!_

As Harry's mind calmed, his power acted. A tendril of purest darkness erupted out of his hand, burying itself deep within the nearest dementor. Then Harry watched, transfixed, as the dementor _unravelled_. He could suddenly see glowing threads, tying together the various magics that comprised it simply _snap_as they were touched by the tendril of his power.

Then he felt a link. Voices were screaming at him: A cacophony of rage, frustration and above all, a mindless terror ... Until he heard one voice, rising over the cacophony.

"**We beg forgiveness, scion of darkness. Spare us, we beg you." **

Forgiveness; such a wonderful word … such a pathetic _lie_… Hadn't he already seen what happenedif he showed forgiveness? Wasn't his godfather, the only family he had, lying soulless mere feet from him because he had shown forgiveness? There would be no forgiveness, no mercy. These _beasts_ had robbed him of a loved one, nothing less than their utter annihilation would suffice in return.

Once again, as he decided, his power answered. Dozens upon dozens of tendrils, similar yet more refined than the original, sprouted from him, ploughing through the dementors, dissolving their magics with a single touch. Till at last, the dementors turned back into a full blown retreat. Escaping across the grounds into a direction Harry vaguely knew Azkaban lied in.

It was at this point that his mind gave in, and Harry's vision went dark.

When he woke it was morning. Looking around, he saw that he was in the hospital wing, lying on the beds next to him were Ron and Hermione. Both still unconscious. He thought of waking them, but for some reason the very idea repulsed him, his mind filled of a sudden anger towards them both. Speaking of his mind, he needed to understand just what the hell had happened the last night. He remembered calling himself Voldemort, for Merlin's sake! And as if the name had been a trigger, his mind suddenly filled with memories and thoughts he _knew_ weren't his own. Head pounding, he decided that first of all, he needed a place to think quietly.

The answer came immediately, out of the strange new memories at that. Within minutes he was making his way to the abandoned girls' toilet on the second floor, and before long he was sitting at the feet of the statue of Salazar Slytherin, thinking furiously.

Only that turned out to be a bad idea. The headache, instead of reducing, increased to unbelievable levels, and for the second time in as many days, Harry felt himself falling unconscious.

The last thing he remembered was a grey face looming over him.


	2. Chapter 2: And so it begins

**Chapter 2: And So It Begins**

Harry opened his eyes. Looking around, he realized he was in a bed, an extremely soft one actually. Also, the whole room he was in was done in green and silver motif.

He blinked, thinking '_where could….'_until remembering what had happened the last time he was awake. So this was the Chamber of Secrets. '_Strange, I don't remember there being an infirmary in the chamber'_ he thought, as he kept looking around.

He spied a portrait on the wall, the occupant of which was looking at him in undisguised amusement.

"Um...mind telling me who you are, and what part of the chamber this is?" he said.

The man smiled, before replying"For the second part of your question, this is one of the high priority rooms in the medical wing. As for the first, well, why don't you make a guess?"

At this, Harry looked again at the portrait, and this time, really _looked._Green robes with silver embroidery, shoulder length black hair and green eyes that reminded Harry of his own.

Only these eyes shone with a depth of experience and wisdom that Harry was sure wasn't present in his own. As he looked, the answer to the man's identity came to him. He supposed that there never really had been much doubt. He'd just been hesitating from acknowledging it. "Slytherin, your name is Salazar Slytherin" he breathed.

"Completely correct, Mister Potter ," The portrait answered. "But then, it never really was much of a question, was it?"

"How do you know my name" Harry asked.

"Oh you were lying there with your mind ready to burst, I'm afraid I took a look through it. A small one, mind you and I also put up a tiny little barrier between your mind and the memories of my dear little descendant that were wreaking such havoc upon your thought processes" was the painting's reply.

"What do you mean by that? You read my mind? And what's this about your descendant's memories?" Harry asked. This was ridiculous, he was in some sort of hospital in the Chamber of Secrets, the portrait of Salazar Slytherin had just gone through his mind, and he had Voldemort's memories in his head?

The portrait was offended by his remark, as he gave a sneer, before replying "You _are _slow, aren't you, child? I meant exactly what I said. The memories of the man you know as Tom Riddle were hard at work destroying your mind bit by bit, a process made even worse by the partial assimilation you had done with them. I put up a small barrier so that you would be able to absorb them properly when you awoke. Speaking of which, you really should do that right now, before the situation gets any worse."

Harry wasn't having any of that though. He asked "Um…OK, but what exactly do you_ mean_? I don't understand. _How _did Voldemort's memories get in my head? What is a partial assimilation? And why would I absorb Voldemort's memories?"

The man was now getting visibly annoyed. "Listen, child, you don't know what's going on, fine. But all you really need to understand is that you are currently in the very real danger of becoming a vegetable for the rest of your life, and I'm one of the only people on the planet who can save you from that fate. There will be time enough for your questions later, but right now we need to _act!"_

Harry was worried. The man seemed sincere in what he was saying, and Harry had no desire to be a drooling husk for the rest of his life. Images of Lockhart flying through his mind, he said "Very well, but you will have to help me, as I've got no idea how to go about absorbing someone's memories, and you apparently know."

The painting smiled, his mood quickly turning around."Of course, you only have to ask for help to be answered." Growing serious, he continued. "Now that we're agreed, understand that this will hurt quite a bit. I will reduce it as much as possible, but you need to be prepared nonetheless."

"Oh, and I will need to enter your mind." He added on an afterthought."I didn't know you needed permission to enter my mind."

"Well, I don't really, but it's always better to observe proper courtesy. Now, this is how it works. I shall enter your mind, assimilate the memories into my own, and then pass on the finished product to you. All I need you to do is to look into my eyes."

Harry did so, and soon he was aware of a presence in his mind. He flinched slightly as he felt a small pulse of magic pass through him, realizing that it must be the barrier Slytherin had spoken of, now gone.

He felt the rush of memories invade his mind, before they were suddenly diverted, no doubt into Slytherin's own. As minutes passed, he gradually became aware of a small flow of thoughts flowing from Salazar's mind into his own. Focusing, he realized they were just simple facts, albeit _very _detailed.

He remembered the name of an orphanage in the East end of London, the names of its staff, the names of the children, the colours of the clothes they had worn, and their faces. Everything there was to know, he did. The small flow of thought quickly grew to become a river of memories, and he remembered yet more. Maths, science, and English, as they were taught fifty years ago…children, who had terrorized him till he realized that he was better than them … Actions he had taken in both revenge and as pre-emptive strikes…He remembered strangling rabbits, and taking bullies to caves and leaving them there.

He remembered Dumbledore coming and telling him about magic, and then seven years of blind ambition and a quest to findthe legacy of his discovered ancestor, followed by a purge, culminating in murder. He saw a young Tom Riddle as he put on the Sorting Hat, and took his place in Slytherin. He saw Riddle as he discovered his heritage …As he spent all his time in the library, in his quest for knowledge and power. He saw Riddle as he mastered the Unforgivable Curses, as he killed his father, and drowned himself in the Dark Arts.

Above all, he remembered _Learning_.

The knowledge of spells, potions, and rituals, pieces of magic wonderful and vile passed through in his mind's eye. Recollections of journeys across vast distances, finding masters and ferreting out their secrets, of fighting duel after duel, as he destroyed giants among men while establishing his absolute superiority.

The memories were now a veritable flood.

More information than he could possibly imagine …He could feel it being drilled into him, combining with his magical core.

The basics came first: The Levitating Charm, Calming Draught, and simple Transfiguration …All of the lessons from the first year to the O.W.L. exams.

Then harder things came: Human Transfiguration, Advanced Charms, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Magical Creatures. The Polyjuice Potion, the Draught of Living Death, and Veritaserum. Subjects he had never studied before.

The knowledge kept coming Spells, Potions, and Ritual Instructions that would never be found in the Hogwarts Library.

He learned the Unforgivable Curses in an instant. He learned hundreds of charms, curses, hexes, and jinxes in the blink of an eye. He learned the Dark Arts, Rune Magic, Occlumency, and Legilimency. He learned Ancient Spells long forgotten.

And still the lessons continued.

He learned how to make Port Keys, how to Apparate. He learned Healing, Ward Magic, poisons, and antidotes. He was now fluent in languages he had never heard of, much less spoken.

Magical knowledge wasn't the only thing to come. He saw bank accounts, plans, safe houses and emergency caches. All of a sudden, he knew the innermost details of the Dark Mark. He knew which Death Eaters were utterly loyal and which ones were traitors.

It kept coming for what seemed like hours, wave after wave of facts, breaking down and embedding themselves deep into his mind. Till at last, it reduced, before tapering off completely. And afterwards, darkness enveloped his vision yet again as he receded, this time not in unconsciousness, but in a deep, peaceful slumber. His Last thought was, _'I know what to do now'. _

As he slept, the portrait of Salazar Slytherin watched. He knew just how important this boy was.

He had felt the outburst of magic when the boy had unleashed his magic and destroyed those dementors, and he _knew _just what it was that he had felt. There had been necromancy, and his beloved mind magic, just to name two of many.

The sheer array of magic that had been in play at the time meant that the boy was _very _powerful. And now, he lay completely within the power of Salazar Slytherin. Most delicious of all, however, was the irony. The boy was a Potter, and there had been potent war magic in his aura the night before last. To the uneducated, the two things were unrelated, but Salazar knew better. After all, War Mages came from one line only.

His face remained as calm as ever, but in his mind he was screaming to the heavens '_Look, Godric, look upon your heir, and weep. For you may have killed me, but my will is done regardless'_


	3. Chapter 3: In Memoria

A/N:

Before we start this, I want to tell you that I have been reading both fanfics and paid mainstream literature for the last several years. This story is the culmination of ideas that have been infesting my mind for months. There are a lot of ideas used in this story that come both from other fanfics and from mainstream books, TV, etc.

Chapter 3

* * *

Harry was dreaming. Well, not "dreaming" per se, but he was asleep as images flickered past his mind. He knew that they were his memories, all the way from when he had first been able to retain any. Just minutes ago, he had finished going through the memories of Tom Riddle, and it seemed that it was his own turn now.

Only this time, what flowed through his mind were not facts, but full remembrances in their complete emotional glory. He remembered the joy he felt as he first laid eyes upon his mother, the love he felt for his father, and he remembered the love they had felt for him. He experienced, once more, the wonder that was magic as it first coursed through him, the tinkle of his mother's laughter, and the pride of his father as he performed accidental magic when he was barely days old.

All this he remembered, and much more.

The hatred he felt for the Dursleys since his youngest years, the beatings, the starvations. All of it passed through his mind. It went faster and faster, till at last he came back to the events just days ago. The grief he felt when he realized that he was now truly alone in the world, the sheer magnitude and depth of the power he'd felt, the stark terror of the dementors, and the blissful grasp of oblivion that came after it.

He remembered all that, and as it passed through his mind again and again, he could feel it all sorting itself out, thoughts, feelings and memories arranging themselves neatly and clearly.

When it ended, Harry felt as if he was born anew. For the first time in his life, his mind was free of the clutter that occupies the average mind. The forefront of his brain was occupied by nothing other than cool, hard logic, allowing him to actually _think_ clearly for the first time in his life. Once again he repeated to himself '_I know what I have to do'._

And then he opened his eyes.

Naturally, being where he was, the first sound to greet his ears was the now familiar drawl of one of the four founders of the school "And so you join the land of the living once again. Welcome back, Mister Potter."

"Were you actually staring at me the whole time?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"Well, your wit has improved at the very least." The founder said dryly, "Although, this is not the time for you to show it. We need to talk." "Of course we do. Please, start." Harry said.

"I presume you understood what you saw in my descendant's memories?" Slytherin asked.

"Of course I did." Harry replied.

"Then you understand, especially from the prophecy you heard, that he shall not be gone forever, or too long for that matter? And just how powerful an enemy you'll face when he does return?"

"Yes,"

"So you understand the need to prepare, to gain as much power as you can while you have the time, not to mention the preparations you need to make to ensure that another like him never rises again?"

"I do, and I humbly request your help in the matter"

There was a moment's silence as ancient painted eyes gazed appraisingly at the young wizard.

"You are aware what needs to be done to make things official?" the words came out in a low tone, expectant.

"I am"

"Let us begin, then" Slytherin said with a wave of his hand.

Taking a deep breath, Harry said "Lord Salazar Slytherin, I am Hadrian Potter, of the house of Potter. I have a great enemy, and I find myself in need of urgent assistance. I have heard tell of your deeds far and wide, and I humbly request you to take me as your apprentice and teach me all that I need to know. I am of high birth, and significant magical ability. I swear to keep your secrets, treat you with the utmost respect, and give you my obedience, till you deem my apprenticeship complete. So I have spoken, so it shall be."

A white flash of light filled the room, indicating the magical nature of the oath-cum-request. It was a formal entreaty for apprenticeship, modelled after Voldemort's studies of old English customs.

As far as apprenticeship entreaties went, it was fairly simple (Harry remembered hour long speeches from Voldemort's memories.) Now Slytherin would give his assent, which was usually followed by negotiations for a written contract. That was something Harry hoped to avoid, still leery of negotiating with a Slytherin, least of all _the _Slytherin. (Not to mention he was wondering just how the portrait would sign a contract, when he was still amazed that it had managed to perform Legilimency on him.)

Slytherin now had an amused expression on his face. "You do, of course, realize that I can _still _perform Legilimency. And to answer your question it is one of the many special features that the original painted me with. And no, we shall not be signing a contract. This is, and shall remain, a purely oral deal. Which reminds me, I, Salazar Slytherin, The Six thousand Seven hundred and eleventh Lord of the Bloodline of the Serpent masters, Nineteenth Duke of Parsellsia and the Sixteenth Warden of the Southern Mountains acknowledge and accept your request for apprenticeship. I vow to teach you to the best of my ability, to protect you from all harm while in my care, and to give you the tools to do so yourself when you leave it. I vow not to use this apprenticeship for my personal gain, neither to prolong it to undue lengths. So I say, so it shall be."

At this, a golden thread of magic connected the heads of the portrait and Harry, signifying the establishment of the bond.

"And now that the formalities are complete, let us begin forming our plans. The first thing that we need to do is to go back to the infirmary, and satisfy the curiosities of your companions and that headmaster. Apart from that, you need to arrange a burial for your godfather befitting a Lord of his stature.""Of course, speaking of that, just how long have I been here anyway?" Harry said. He felt oddly numb when thinking of Sirius. He supposed his new clarity of thought was to thank for that. After all, the man had been a murderer to him just days ago. His death had brought about the impulse that had allowed Harry's own survival, but now that he thought clearly, he realized that there never really had been much of a connexion between them.

"It is currently nine P.M.," Salazar replied. "You came to the chamber this morning. Your last exam was yesterday. You assimilated Voldemort's memories this afternoon. It has been roughly twenty-five hours since you destroyed over two dozen dementors, and freed yourself from your bindings."

"Yeah, about that…What exactly happened? How did I destroy the dementors? How did I get those memories?"

"Answering the questions one at a time, you had until yesterday, a number of mental and magical blocks binding your power. What happened was that the dementor, as it tried to claim your soul, eroded quite a few of the mental blocks. It was this weakening, in addition to the extreme stress you felt as a result of your grief and survival instincts that allowed your heritage to surface and tear away what remained of the mental blocks and a portion of the magical ones." Salazar said.

"OK, but what about the dementors, or the memories?"

"Patience, boy!" the portrait rebuked irritably. "I'm getting to that. As your heritage surfaced for the first time, it went uncontrolled. Arcane magic is powerful like that. At the moment, you wanted nothing more than to destroy the ones who had caused you such grief. Your power answered, you saw the result.

"As far as the memories are concerned, it appears that you had a soul shard in your mind. When the dementor drew closer, the block keeping it separate was among the ones to go, and that allowed it to invade your mind, trying to possess you. Once again, you repelled it, throwing it out of your psyche for the dementor to feed, while retaining anything your magic deemed useful. It is, in fact, this phenomenon that is a large reason for my interest."

"And why would that be?" Harry asked.

"Because the particular talent required for something like this is called mind magic, and the sheer magnitude of the feat means that you may very well be a true mind mage. Should _that _be true, in addition to your ability to speak Parseltongue …well, suffice to say that there are some _very_ interesting possibilities, especially coupled with the other things I saw. We shall need to perform a proper inheritance ritual, and soon, to be certain.

"But that can be done later. Right now we need to work out just what to tell to your friends above us."

That reminded Harry "But just what am I going to do? I've been absent for the last whole day! Dumbledore is sure to use Legilimency and I don't have any proper shields set up yet. Nor do I have the time to set them up."

In contrary to Harry's worries, Salazar seemed totally relaxed. "Don't worry child, didn't I swear an oath to protect you just moments ago? You will find that there is much I can do, even if the scope is limited to my castle. First of all, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, you have been unconscious, in full view of the world, for the whole day. Nor are they aware of your destroying the dementors. In addition to that, Dumbledore shall believe that your mind is far too weakened to be toyed with right now, and he shall refrain from his tricks. These are things I have already arranged, and all we need to discuss is what you shall tell them when they inevitably ask for the reasons of your prolonged slumber."

"That shouldn't be too difficult. I can tell them that I heard my mother screaming, and that I felt drained by my exposure to the dementor. This, followed by an 'I have no idea' to the rest of their questions should suffice well enough. What I'm more interested in is just how you managed your end?"Harry responded.

"I agree. As to your question, I placed a simulacrum in your hospital bed moments after you left. It was fashioned from raw flesh here in this very chamber, and taken to the infirmary well in advance to await you gaining wakefulness. You didn't notice in your hurry, but you were both invisible and intangible when you came to the chamber. As for Dumbledore, a small compulsion here and there is only the least of what I can do within Hogwarts." was the answer from the Serpent founder.

"Well, that's good then, but I remember that you said something about an inheritance test?"

"I suggest we adjourn to the study for this, unless, of course you wish to remain on your hospital bed?"

"Oh yes, of course. Well, lead the way."

"Actually, there is a better way. Look in my eyes." Harry did so and suddenly found that he knew the exact layout of the entire chamber. After that it took him only moments to get to the office, which was once again decorated in Slytherin colours. A magnificent oak desk dominated the room, behind which was another life sized portrait of the Founder.

"Well, let's get on with it. You will find a potion and a quill and parchment in the topmost drawer of the desk. Take them out. Drink the potion, and place a droplet of your blood on the tip of the quill. Then set it on the parchment." Slytherin said, settling into his new frame.

Harry did so, and soon he could feel strange warmth grow within him. A couple of moments later, the quill gave a jerk, and started scratching away at the parchment. Soon Harry saw it stop, and picked up the parchment, now covered in elaborate calligraphy.

The contents made him gasp. From Voldemort's memories, he knew that it was unusual for a person to be heir to more than one house. Two happened a couple times in a century, three had happened once or twice a millennium, and four had happened half a dozen times in a history going back millions of years.

There were six names on the page.

This was completely unprecedented, he doubted even Salazar had known such an occurrence.

Getting over his shock, he focused on the contents, reading each line carefully

**Paternal:**

**Potter: by blood and magic  
Black: by blood and magic  
Gryffindor: by blood and magic  
Peverell: by blood and magic**

**Maternal:**

**Slytherin: by blood and magic  
Sharr: by blood and magic**

Harry thought he must be looking like a buffoon, but he was still too out of it to care. He knew somewhat how magical successions went (Voldemort had spent a large part of his life trying to secure the Slytherin lordship.), but nothing could have prepared him for this. Potter was expected, and he supposed Black made sense. Not to mention he remembered a few unsubstantiated theories that may have landed him the founder houses, but Peverell and Sharr?

He showed the parchment to Salazar, who gazed in clear fascination, before gaining a shrewd look. Eventually, he asked "By the expression on your face, I suppose you know exactly what this means?"

"Yes, this is huge, but I don't understand. I believed my mother was Muggleborn. How could I have any maternal inheritance? Apart from that, the Sharrs? They are believed extinct!" because Harry _knew _about the Sharrs. There existed legends about them that made Voldemort and his merry band of terrorists look like choirboys!

Hell, there had been Sharr Stormlords that had sunken and raised continents! Whole civilizations had fallen as a result of angering the house of Sharr. Sumer and Carthage were two examples.

His mother had descent from _them_?

"Indeed this is a surprise ..." Salazar said thoughtfully, "But easily clarified. You know the spell, I believe?"

Harry did. Tapping the Sharr name with his wand, he said "Ostendo sum meus Progenies".

It was a spell used for tracing genealogies up to three generations, suited for exactly these situations. It was one of dozens he knew (Voldemort had _really_ wanted to become Lord Slytherin), but one of the only ones he felt sure he could perform with any effectiveness. What it did was to display the family tree of the source of the particular heritage, in this case his mother.

It did its work, and the letters on the page faded away, replaced by his mother's family tree, depicted in brilliant colours. And once again, it was a surprise.

As far as he knew, his mother's full maiden name had been Lily Evelyn Evans.

The first name on the page read Liliana Aideen Sharr.

It was connected by golden lines to the names _Ambrosius _and_ Rheanna Sharr_. Ambrosius, in turn, was connected to Darius and Marya Sharr.

Darius's name was in brilliant silver, while those of Ambrosius and Liliana were a dull grey. Marya and Rheanna were plain black. What it signified was that Darius had been Lord Sharr, while neither Ambrosius nor Lily had ascended to it.

"Well, isn't that interesting. It seems that you do in fact have a perfectly legitimate claim on the house of Sharr." Salazar said.

"Yes, but what about the rest? Peverell? Gryffindor? Your Family? How is all this possible?" Harry was still bewildered.

Slytherin explained "Actually, I know exactly how those appeared. It has to do with the old succession laws. There are criteria that have to be satisfied, and you have done so. This is what I was referring to when I talked about you being a potential mind mage as well as a Parselmouth. Being both is a necessity to activate the Slytherin estate from dormancy.

It is similar for the other families. Gryffindor requires you to be a war mage, while Peverell demands necromantic talent. I know for a fact that you have both, seeing as I read them in your aura when you destroyed those dementors.

No, what I'm interested is that if you can claim the lordships right now. Unfortunately, there is no way to know till you visit either Gringotts or the Ministry. And I refuse to allow you to go to either place till you master Occlumency, not to mention some lessons in Magical traditions and etiquette. There is much you have to learn, and not nearly enough time, the way things are.

"Speaking of visiting places, you will need to go up sometime soon, and then talk to your friends and the headmaster in the morning."

Harry had, till now, avoided thinking about his _friends_ on the surface. Because now that he wasn't a brain affected, attention starved child, he knew that whatever his connection with Granger and Weasley may be, they were not friends.

Ron was a jealous little pig, more interested in the benefits that came with Harry's association, than in Harry himself. That was the reason he'd blown up at Hermione for the Firebolt incident. It hadn't been for any love towards Harry, but the idea that he could lose the popularity that would inevitably come with such a broom. Speaking of which, that was just another entry in the long list of Hermione's crimes against him. He hadn't realized just how blind he had been.

Hermione called herself the cleverest witch in their year. Harry had never bothered verifying this, but there wasn't any need to. After all, it was so simple that he couldn't believe he hadn't realized earlier, even with the blocks and whatnot.

Hermione spent over eight months out of the ten they had at Hogwarts in rote memorization, nose deep in a book. Harry felt pretty certain that if she was anywhere nearly as intelligent as she claimed (or even moderately decent), she could have _understood_ it, and done it in one.

The Hogwarts course was just that easy.

No, Hermione Granger was nothing more than an average student, albeit one with an ability to stare at a book until she had the words printed in her mind. She would make the perfect librarian, and her sheer mule-headedness could land her a researching job. That was about as far in life as she could hope to go, though.

But right now, he had just remembered something. He said, "Yeah, they'll keep. By the way, master, can you tell me just what blocks were there on my mind?"

"Unfortunately, I can't. Remember that I am, after all, just a painting. It's not a matter of skill. Having had an extra millennium to hone myself, I'm better than the original himself in that regard. No, the truth is that I have taxed too much of my power doing what I've already done. I'll need to recharge the runes before I can go into your mind, trace out the remnants of the enchantments, and then identify them. You can do it, though. I know for a fact that Voldemort knew much about them. You can also take the opportunity to sort out your Occlumency." Salazar answered with a shrug.

Yeah, he could do that. Actually, that was a plan. He could go up right now, spend the rest of the night setting up proper Occlumency shields, and then go through Voldemort's memories of mental enchantments, comparing them to the traces in his own mind. Then in the morning, he would deal with Dumbledore.

There were still two weeks left before the end of the term, and Harry intended to use every single day to get himself to where he needed to be. There were plans already forming in his mind, and he would need all his resources to enact them. But first, he needed accurate information about the goings on of the school.

He said as much to the founder, who immediately launched in an explanation detailing all the events of the last day. Lupin had resigned, and his so called friends had been released at noon that day. They had then spent the day in Hogsmeade, with nary a care for their supposed best friend, who, as far as they knew, had been in a coma. Still, that was good news, as he would have time before they showed their face at his bedside. Dumbledore would keep his Legilimency to himself for the time being, courtesy of Salazar's compulsions.

Decision made, Harry was back in his bed in the infirmary just minutes later, the doppelganger Salazar had mentioned in his pocket, shrunken to the size of a matchstick.

He thanked magic that Pomfrey was just a school nurse, as any half decent healer knew spells to inform them of change in patients' status. Those would have made the whole thing quite unnecessarily complicated. Within seconds, he was in his mind, once again among his memories.

The thing about Occlumency was, it was inherently impossible to master, unless a person was willing to completely accept and understand what they were to their very core. Many fiction novels and the like depicted people visiting their mindscapes and creating defences like walls, moats and beast guards, limited only by their imagination.

Now, that _was _a viable way to learn Occlumency, just a very simplistic one. It was also an inefficient one, as people often lost track of just what they'd built, making things incredibly easy for an intruder who knew what he was doing. Another option was to focus on one thought to the exclusion of all else, but that one required immense personal attention.

The method Harry was using was the most effective method he knew of. It wasn't even to be found in the public domain, as Tommy dearest had learned it from some of Salazar's books in the chamber.

It involved a person delving into themselves, right down to the very core of their subconscious. Once there, one examined every facet of their personality. Each and every memory, emotion and random thought was dissected and absorbed again and again, until the person in question knew all that was to know about them.

Another myth about Occlumency was that it granted eidetic memory. Well…. in this case, that wasn't a myth. Thing was, _everyone_ had photographic memory. What happened was that the information gained without active effort (And a large part of what _was_ gained by active effort) always, without exception, went to the subconscious.

And the subconscious never forgot.

Ordinary wizards couldn't access the subconscious (not without a Pensieve, at least), but those who had spent hours in meditation upon themselves, reaching in and examining themselves _could_. This meant that they could access all of those memories whenever they chose. This had been what had clinched this method for Voldemort, and this was what clinched it for Harry.

A side effect of this was the complete absence of emotions in the person. This was something Tom had damaged when he created his Horcruxes. What it meant was that organizing the mind in tightly defined rings left no room for emotions. Or, for that matter, any emotions, all of them already placed in the rings.

After one understood themselves to a satisfactory degree, they could start on defending themselves. The results of the introspection, the stark, vulnerable truths were kept at the very core, and around them the rest of the mind was rebuilt in rings. The valuable things first; important facts and plans, names, places, images, sound, anything, followed by the increasingly less important ones, all the way out to the outermost rings, which were mostly utter rubbish, imagined memories, irrelevant plans, and the like.

This arrangement, by its very nature, formed a passive defence. Apart from it, the familiarization with their own mind allowed an Occlumens to know the moment something foreign entered their mind, and throw them out immediately.

There were other bells and whistles attached, all of which Harry would be using, but this formed the core of his defence.

It took several hours for him to reach his subconscious, but soon enough he had started with the rings. In the innermost rings went the information about Salazar, the events of the night before last, the chamber's happenings and the details of his heritage. He worked outwards, placing both his own memories and Voldemort's, until he came to the outermost rings. Now, Voldemort had mastered many traps, baits and tricks, all of which Harry was using. Memories of the pain of the Cruciatus curse disguised as important plans, gigantic pieces of junk information feeling like vital memories, memories of eating, of simply staring into darkness, all were used and shaped into shields around his psyche.

It was long, tiring work, but well worth it in the end.

Finally, as the last of his memories fell into place, all that was left were the destroyed enchantments. These he analysed carefully, comparing at every step to the examples he knew. Had he been able to feel, the results would've made him furious. What he found was enough to make any person's personality do a complete one-eighty: Spells to dampen Ambition and Intellect, potions to cause a continuous guilt syndrome, enchantments to make him completely unable to hate, to feel pride, or paranoia. You name it, it was there. And it was painfully obvious just who was responsible.

Dumbledore would die for this.

It wasn't an oath of vengeance, or a promise to him, or anything as cheesy. It was a simple fact. Harry Potter had been betrayed, repeatedly and heinously, by one of the people he had trusted the most. And he was a Slytherin. He knew what was to be done in such a situation.

Betrayal begot blood.

There would be no confrontations, no loud accusations, and no newspaper carrying Dumbledore's deeds and sending him to Azkaban. No waiting because 'he wanted him to know why he died'.

Just a shadow descending in the man's room while he slept, followed by a green flash.

A list had begun to form in Harry's mind, of the people he intended to see inside a grave before he was satisfied. Dumbledore had just established himself on the top of it.

There would be more names to come in the near future, as he found out more about his life, but one thing was certain. Betrayal begot blood. He would never forgive, he would never forget.

His mind resolute, Harry closed his mind and decided to sleep. He had a performance to give in the morning.

A.N:

I will never understand the fanverse's fascination with Hermione. I am a student, and I know that intelligence is the ability to grasp knowledge with little guidance/reading. Taking that into account, I don't see how someone who needs to practically move in into the library to do well in exams can be considered even decently talented.

And before anyone questions me about the easiness of wizarding exams, I recall a first year question in the O.W.L paper. How many of you have been asked first grade theory question in high school exams, I'd like to know? And what would you think of a system that asked such questions?


	4. Interlude: A brief History of Magic

A brief History of Magic

Once, long ago, aeons before the earliest concept of time, there was an event. For the rest of eternity, it would be referred to, quite appropriately, as "creation".

For that is what it was. Indeed, much was created in that event. The whole of the universe, in all its majestic and timeless glory, was born in a single, all-encompassing event.

Everything that made the world what it was and is, the stars, the planets, walls that split the multiverse in dimension after dimension, the people, etc. _wasn't _created then, but we'll come to that later.

What was present at the time, encompassing everything there was and nothing at all, were countless energies of every type, colour and kind. All of them were born in the event, and later occupied the endless ether that was the first form of the universe.

Eons passed thus, the energies clashing, tearing, and raging. They merged to create new forms, decayed into older ones, and swirled and burned without an end. Eventually, something happened. A spark, a form of energy dying out, or a newer, more powerful one being born, it hardly matters.

What does matter is that the energies started accumulating. More and more forms consolidating into fewer and fewer ones, which grew ever more potent. Till the time came when the number of energies came to its lowest, while their powers were higher than they had ever been before.

Thus were born the first of the gods.

They were neither sentient nor intelligent, but they were the most powerful beings in the universe. And as time passed, things changed: They interacted with each other, communicated. Soon, they found that their radically different natures caused unnecessary complications in communication. Great was the destruction this caused. Eventually they created a rudimentary set of rules and symbols that everyone could follow and understand. It would favour no one, and would be understood by all.

Language was born.

It was but the first of their developments. As things continued, they evolved, gaining sentience and intelligence. Developing and harnessing their limitless powers. It was a slow process, but they had no shortage of time.

As intelligence grew among them, they channelled their powers more and more, creating worlds, dimensions and entire galaxies at whim. Moreover, they created _life. _Entire civilizations, vast, great and powerful were born simply as experiments for them to see what they could do, populated by all manners of creatures, both mesmerizing and foul.

But it was not to last.

As the way of the world is, the most powerful thoughts to come to these new-born gods were negative ones. It was understandable, for they were but children. And children quarrel, everyone knows this. Only, these children were capable of destroying entire worlds in their tantrums.

And they did. Where before civilizations had risen and fallen for the amusement of their gods, there had been still a cushion of their favour, however thin, but now? Now they knew _suffering_. As the gods warred, so did their creations. Planets, entire galaxies burned as one god raged at another, and another and another.

Still, they evolved. As every child does, they grew up. It was a long, slow process, and the infant universe suffered much during it, but it happened nonetheless.

As they evolved, they found their clashes to be bothersome. Until one day, they had enough. Their anger caused too much havoc, so they agreed that there was need for a force to exist: A new form of energy that would exist throughout the entirety of the universe, binding and linking everything within it. It would not only be their finest creation, but also their superior. It would be the ultimate force of existence, capable of stopping any of them who would seek to harm their universe. They met, pooled their power, and willed their creation into being.

The force so born was unlike anything any of them could have imagined. It was the greatest, most beautiful and terrible thing that had or would ever exist. It was far greater than the true gods that existed then, and it was greater than any that came afterwards.

Through the ages, it had many names. But the most common was the one most recent.

Indeed, magic had come into being.

And now that it had, there wasn't a power capable of undoing this in the whole universe. Many would try in the times to come. But magic would not be tamed, and any who tried to do so would suffer beyond words.

As the gods became familiar with magic, many things they had never thought of came into being. Dimensions split, laws of destiny and existence were identified, and life returned to the universe, better and freer than ever before.

The wonders that came after the creation of this arcane force were countless. Suffice to say, that the greatest of the previous civilizations were utter Neanderthals compared to the ones that came after.

And speaking of worlds and civilizations, we come now to a fireball located in a galaxy that seemed milky white when seen from afar.

It was small by the going standards, and was surrounded by other things, clouds of smoke, gas and dust that swirled upon themselves endlessly. However, one of these clouds was special. It was the third from the fireball, and so small it was practically miniscule. But it was special, so special, as magic, the greatest of forces, had finally chosen a home.

This was the planet that would be the center of the universe as far as the matters of magic were concerned. The gods had the rest of the universe. Magic and magic alone would reign supreme in this realm.

But before that happened, as a command from magic, the gods would breathe life onto this planet.

By this time, the gods had evolved considerably. No longer were they children, but knowledgeable adults.

As they united to bring life to the new-born planet, their first choice was what the world today calls animals.

Reptiles, felines, vulpines, bovines, all forms of beasts came into existence, and were let loose upon the earth, with the gods all agreeing to do naught more than watch until action became necessary.

Vigintillions of years passed thus, the beings growing ever more intelligent, more powerful. At first, they were happy to remain separate, each minding their own business. The predators hunted the prey, yes, but the amounts were small, and easily ignored. But the earth was only so big, and rising populations brought matters to a head.

By this time, something else had happened too, magic had concentrated into its new home, sinking deep and taking the form of ley lines that ran as veins and arteries in a living being. Only, it had not stayed limited to the earth or the environment.

Now, to understand this, one needs to realize that previous civilizations had used magic before, but to them it had always been something present in the world, only to be harnessed and used. Power came in terms of their sensitivity to it, not their ability to produce it.

In this case, it was different. Magic had made its way deep into these beings, shaping into cores and channels that ran like miniature leylines. So when these beings fought, the devastation was unlike anything there had been seen before, except for the time of the warring gods.

Continents burned. Oceans dried and were created anew as the poles melted again and again. This same pattern continued, until the end came. The reptile race, under the rule of the terrible Death Dragons, had won. Every other being was too terrified of them to act, and the Earth was theirs.

The Dragon age had come.

For billions of years afterwards, every being in the world bowed to the throne of Ivory Flame, from where the Death Dragons held sway. They bred and bred, multiplying hugely, while also encouraging the same for their non-magical cousins, bringing forth a time that would one day be called the Jurassic age.

Peace had come to Earth. A brutal, enforced peace, held at snout-point, but a peace all the same.

Alas, as before, it was not to last.

Ambition and avarice had been denied for too long. Now that complacence had set in, it was their time to act. Once again, the Earth burned as dragon turned on dragon, and the subordinate species took full advantage.

It eventually became so bad, that the gods, long since bored of the slaughter, decided to act.

Within days, the Earth was cleansed, mere thousands remaining where there had once been millions.

Once again, the gods conferred. Once again, a decision was reached. A new form of life was created, this time far more intelligent, in their own image. They too had the potential of magic, far greater than the previous ones. There was a reason for this, as they believed that the deeper connection would encourage magic itself to act in regards to them.

As the humans came to the Earth, they found it restored to full health. The changes the dragons had wrought remained, but the carnage did not. Again, thousands of years passed. Intelligence developed. Magic grew among them. However, if the gods thought that the results would be different, they were gravely disappointed.

Once again, wars raged as opposing settlements competed for resources. Only this time, the powers that be had no patience for such things. A meeting happened, and it was decided that this time, there would be their representatives on Earth. They would start families that would be a constant as long as the Earth existed. They would rule by union, and all would follow. Peace would be kept.

Soon, results showed. They had descended to the Earth, and had fathered families that had rapidly risen to prominence in their respective domains. Their descendants fought minor wars with each other, but their divine ancestors were remembered, and skirmishes grew fewer and fewer, until peace came via a united council.

Only, one of the gods had other ideas. He decided it should be his line that ruled. Not some council. So he did what they had all agreed never to do. He visited his children. He told them what he wanted, and received overwhelming support. So the god opened to them the doors of a realmhe had created long ago.

It was a beautiful, terrible place, where limitless powers waited for someone to come use them. But he cautioned his children to be patient, to let his rivals' warlike tendencies be blunted by aeons of peace. They understood, and bided their time.

Meanwhile, great and beautiful things happened on the Earth. Vast, mighty cities were erected. Rl'yeh, Leng, Kadath all were examples of the sheer marvels that the families could do when united.

Of course, everything paled in comparison to the wonder that was their greatest creation. The capital of Earth: Atlantis Island.

Centuries passed thus. The families meeting, laughing and busying themselves in ruling over the planet, till the time came. Everyone had almost forgotten what it was to fight, to feel the thrill that comes with mortal peril. All, except one family. And they were rewarded. The time came, the high positions had been taken over, and the men guarding the cities were theirs. The family marched into the city streets, and threw wide the gates, bringing the unending armies of never-never to the Earth for the first time in history. They succeeded totally. The reigning lords of the other families were slaughtered, their children forced into vassalage. The lord of the family had become King of all Earth. (Incidentally, this was the first ever _coup d état_ in human history)

Such was their success that even the other gods took time to realize. They were getting their prayers, and had all but forgotten about their children. However, they did realize, and their rage was nothing short of catastrophic. It had taken the traitor god a huge part of his power to link the worlds, and he had not yet recovered. What little power he had left was spent in protecting his children. So they struck, and threw him in a sort of jail of their creation: A dimension far isolated from all others.

Then they turned towards the children he had tried to protect. They struck, having decided to ignore all other decisions they had made before, and wipe out the family.

Atlantis sank within seconds, barely any families managing to escape. Untold amount of knowledge and wealth were lost, sunken under tons of sea.

Not content with that, the gods wove a wall around the sunken continent, making it impossible for anyone to penetrate, placing a seal that would be impossible, even for the highest of the Atlantean sorcerers to break. Thousands died trying in the years to come.

Finally, they turned their attention to the remnants of the family, intending to wipe them out.

Only to pause, as their powers refused to work.

_Then_ they understood what they had done. This was the home of magic, and even though they had created the humans, once they lived at Earth, they became Magic's children. What they had done was to try destroying a mother's children. (This was also the time that magic was confirmed as female).

All of a sudden, it didn't matter that they were the first gods. It didn't matter that there were twelve of them, facing against a primordial energy with barely any intelligence. The only thing that mattered was that they had tried to destroy a mother's children.

The pain, when it came, was excruciating. Everything they were was ripped away from them. They burned, froze, were compressed, and exploded: all in one, tiny moment. They felt their powers shrink, shrink and nearly disappear, as each and every one of their worshippers throughout the universe died in a single second.

The final punishment they got was when every single iota of magic was withdrawn from the universe, to be denied to all who were not her children.

Afterwards, empires arose again on the earth, always under the leadership of one of the thirteen, as did new gods, from a multitude of lines. They had many names, Thule, Lemur, Tir Na Nog, etc. Never did any, however, match the panache of Atlantis or the Elder gods.

Anyone watching this would have long despaired in the fate of the human race as far as magic was concerned, but there was still hope. Legends spread, of seers giving prophecies, of voices speaking from the sky. Both outrageous and credible, however they told the same thing.

There would come, one day, a wizard greater than any before or after him: The one who would lead the world into greatness unrivalled.

Legends, of the Thunder-born.

It would be approximately one hundred and seventy three million years and countless civilizations later, however, that a boy would be born with the blood of four of the thirteen running through his veins. He would be the one to bring forth an empire that would match and surpass Atlantis in both might and panache. An empire that would not only cover the globe but launch itself into the very stars, across dimensions, and so much more.

He would be the one, the Thunder-born.

_Finis_


	5. Chapter 5: The Best Laid Plans

Chapter 4: The best laid plans.

The next several days passed were very busy for Harry. His conversation with Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore had gone mostly as he expected, although there had been a couple surprises.

For one, all of them believed that Sirius had never been innocent at all, and that he had confounded them into believing otherwise. They even had the gall to tell him that _he_ too had been confounded by the man! If it had been just that, he could have tolerated it, but what he really found appalling was that there was no question of a funeral, as Harry's last link to his parents had already been cremated (alive) by the ministry.

Well, they'd get theirs, each and every one of them.

Actually, that had worked in his favour, because it gave him a cast iron excuse to end this farce of a friendship. (He had no doubt Dumbledore would come along trying to resurrect it with his compulsions later, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.)

Meanwhile, it gave him the much needed time to do his work. He had a lot to do, but the first objective was without any question, training. His skills were disgustingly below par to what they should have been, and now he had ample means to reverse that situation.

So the next two weeks passed in a haze of strenuous, mind numbing training.

By now, Harry had mastered almost everything Hogwarts taught. Spells, potions, Runes, Arithmancy, whatever that Riddle knew and Salazar deemed him ready to learn. In addition to that, he had also learnt how to wield a sword and dagger.

Training wasn't the only thing he did. Actually, it _couldn't _have been the only thing he did.

On one of his trips to the chamber, Salazar had had him do a full physical on himself.

The results were…. Not pretty, to say the least.

Ten years of the Dursleys' abuse had not been kind to him. Drastically low bone density, underdeveloped internal organs, multiple hairline fractures and minor infections were only the tip of the iceberg of the mess that was Harry's body. The only thing keeping him in any semblance of relatively good health was his magic, and that would be heavily taxed very soon.

Thankfully, proper magical healing could fix just about anything.

He started off with aheavy diet of ultra-potent nutrient potions to give his body enough raw materials to work from. Spells were then cast to direct the nutrients to the appropriate sites in his body, followed by an everyday dose of healing potions. Skele-Gro and various other Growth Potions were used to replace the damaged bones and underdeveloped organs with healthy, whole tissue. In addition, purging spells were used to take care of any untreated infections that were still lingering. Apart from that, he had also spent considerable amounts of time simply meeting and greeting his peers. He had realized that for the past three years, one of the reasons for his problems had been the policy of insulation he had followed as far as the Hogwarts populace was concerned. It wasn't _too much_ of a problem, as small cliques were par for the course for Hogwarts, but a trio was smaller than most, and he had chosen the worst possible friends out of the collection Hogwarts had to offer.

To change this, Harry had improved his conduct as much as he could. He smiled at everyone he met, greeted them by their first names, and over all worked hard to increase his popularity a hundredfold. After all, the image these students developed of him now would be the image that would stay with them for the next two months, and he would be damned if he didn't take advantage of that.

He _needed_ these people to wax poetic about what a nice guy he was to their parents, just so his surprises remained surprises when he met them.

Speaking of surprises, the one Salazar had given him had opened his mind to a whole range of possibilities.

He had been discussing the lack of time he had with Salazar, when the man had given an enigmatic smile, and whispered two words.

_Time acceleration_

The magic, that once activated, would make the passage of time in a particular area faster than the rest of the world in direct proportion to the power put in the enchantments.

As it was, the Chamber of Secrets had a rather powerful acceleration setup. At full power, a full day could pass inside, while just an hour passed in the outside world.

Of course, this, in addition to several other things, had made Harry ask the question on his mind. Namely, just why did the chamber have such magic? After all, it was just Slytherin's glorified monster cage, right?

It seemed the founder was very offended by that. The lecture had lasted for nearly a quarter of an hour. "Most certainly not, MisterPotter, I designed this chamber to be everything an heir of mine could need to mount a full takeover of the magical realm of Great Britain. There are giant stores of food and potions, even larger ones of ingredients. Not to mention the unlimited source found in the forest above us. After all, just why do you think I planted the forbidden forest? Certainly not as a reserve for innocent, light sided creatures. It serves as a source of both ingredients and experience.

"Apart from that, there is a full functioning infirmary (which you have personally seen) ritual chambers, a library, and an armoury that holds some of the most powerful magical weapons known to wizardkind. There are scores of corpses ready to be turned into an army of Inferi, and thousands of golems and stores of raw flesh to create simulacrums and doppelgangers from.

"Nor was Xerxes the only snake here. Or for that matter, the only basilisk I bred. There are hundreds of serpents, of every species. Currently they're under enchanted sleep, all of them ready to obey the one I deem my heir. Which, of course, you are, "He lectured.

They had also agreed on a plan of action as to what Harry would do come summer. He would go to King's Cross, and then Apparate straight to Diagon. There he would make his claim as heir to his families, and see if he could secure any of the Lordships.

After that it would be back to the Chamber. He would need to begin with his plans. Harry had plans to use the time acceleration setup to its maximum advantage. He needed to get himself up to proper standards, meaning that he would master, sooner or later, every single piece of magic Voldemort' s memories had given him.

That would mean hours and hours of practice with and without a wand. Not to mention that he would have to venture into the Muggle world and start gathering resources.

Now _there_ was a goldmine the wizards had ignored. There was so much that could be done in the Muggle world using a wand, the possibilities were downright staggering.

Speaking of resources, there had been a number of companies controlled by the families Harry had inherited from. They were almost all closed down now, but the bases from which they had operated were still his. Harry had entire forests for wand and potion ingredients, deep quarries for wardstones and rune anchors, and numerous mines for gems and metals, among other things. They would all need to be activated and put into production as soon as possible.

The exact numbers were, of course, unavailable till he had a look at the deed books, but these were standard for wealthy, ancient families.

Soon, the end of term had come, and Harry found himself taking his luggage out of the Hogwarts Express racks as it pulled into platform nine and three-quarters. The trunk shrank to the size of a matchbox with a flick of his wand, and he was off.

Soon, he was outside the train and onto the platform. Then, it was as simple as entering an empty restroom and he disappeared with a barely heard pop.

Opening his eyes, he found himself right in front of Gringotts bank. He headed straight to where he knew the inheritances counter to be, and asked to see the senior goblin in charge.

"And who shall I say is calling?" the goblin asked, sneering. "The Heir of Potter" was Harry's reply. "I require proof of that. Your wand will do."

Harry wordlessly handed it over, knowing that the goblin dared not damage it. It looked at the wand with a sceptical eye, turning and twisting it this way and that. Harry was getting impatient, and was just about to say something when the goblin pronounced "Very well, follow me" andhanded Harry his wand back, before jumping off his chair, gesturing to another goblin to take over.

Soon they were standing before an ornate office door bearing the plate 'Director- Inheritances'.

Well, this was nice. Asking for a senior official got him the director of the Department. Going in, Harry found a goblin wearing spectacles sitting behind a desk that was probably taller than it was.

"So, Mister Potter, what can Gringotts do for you today?" the yet-to-be-named Goblin asked.

"I need an inheritance test done, and then claim whatever is there." Harry said, thinking it best to not waste time.

"Both are easily done. All you have to do is to prick yourself with the nib of this quill" the goblin said, holding up a golden quill.

Harry did so, and was soon staring at the same results he had seen in the Chamber. The goblin was visibly surprised, though, and spent a full minute glancing between Harry and the parchment.

Regaining his composure, he said "Very interesting, Mister Potter. Now, you said you wanted to claim these?"

"I did." Harry said.

"Very well." was all it said, before it picked up a quill and scrawled 'rings' across the parchment. That done, the parchment went into what Harry now recognized as the 'out' box on his desk.

A moment passed, before a tray bearing six ring boxes appeared in the 'in' box.

"Well, go ahead MisterPotter, we don't have all day" the goblin said.

Harry picked up one of the boxes, which he recognized by the coat of arms to be the Potter one. Putting on the ring, he felt warmth grow throughout his body. He recognized it as the magic of the Potter bloodline, verifying his identity. Within moments, he felt the warmth die down, as he suddenly felt new links forming between his core and the ring. Which in turn was connected to the magic, he realized.

The same process repeated with a few changes for the other rings, till he came to the Sharr ring. Putting on that one, the feeling was not just of warmth, but as if a fully-fledged inferno blazing within him. He felt his magic react, and merge furiously to the family magic, his body, and to the ring. As his powers exploded within him, Harry realized that he had just created history. He was now heir confirmed to six extremely powerful magical houses.

But it was not enough. Not that any amount of power would ever be enough to satisfy him, but there lay still more within his reach right now.

"And now we can start discussing about the Lordships." He said.

The goblin sneered at this.

"I don't think you understand what you ask for, human. It is no simple matter to claim Lordships over the houses you are related to, as half of them are dormant, and the other half have succession rules that make what you ask completely impossible."

"That is why I said we can discuss this. I need those Lordships, and am willing to be quite generous to my helpers. We shall start with the Potters, and work through them all to see if I can get a claim to stick on any of them." Harry retorted.

Harry watched as the greed of the goblin fought with its fear of violating the ironclad rules that Harry knew were maintained for exactly these kinds of situations.

The struggle lasted for several moments, but in the end, biology won out. Goblin minds were hardwired so that greed eventually overcame all other considerations, regardless of the situation or possible repercussions. "Very well, the Potters then, the laws are actually rather similar for all of the ancient and noble families, so we can be done with the Blacks at the same time. The complicated bits lie mainly in the eldritch family charters, especially as these ones have to be awoken from deep dormancy."

Harry knew what it meant. When great magical houses were without heirs or lords, meaning basically without the cores of wizards to supplement the family magic, they tended to go into hibernation. The longer this hibernation lasted, the deeper into dormancy they sank. It didn't matter all that much in the end, as the touch of a fresh magical core did awaken even the deepest sleeping estates, but it made claiming the Lordships quite complicated. As Salazar had said back in the chamber, houses that had been sleeping as long as the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Peverell ones would require some very particular alignments in magic if he wanted to do this while underage. Strangely enough, if he was seventeen or already a lord, it would be as simple as stating the claim.

As to the exact reasons why he had no idea and cared even less, knowing that these were things that needed to happen.

"So, as you know, there are a myriad of acts and sub-clauses in the official documentation, but what they boil down to is that the only way a person can claim lordship of any of the great magical houses without having been recognized as a legal adult is if they are the very last person in their country that are eligible to do so.

This is true for even the eldritch houses. The trick is to be identified as the sole valid claimant. For Potter, it is impossible, as there are a number of other claimants.

Their claims are significantly weaker than yours, but they are there. The same holds true for the house of Black. Coming to the dormant houses, let's see the requirements." The goblin said, picking up a file from its desk.

"Hmm, the House of Peverell requires a direct line of descent, and I quote 'The power to look upon the abyss till the abyss looks away'. This has been confirmed to be necromancy. By the fact that you have the ring, that's one gift you are confirmed of possessing.

"Of course, the problem is that several other people have it too." The Goblin finished.

"Wait, if other people satisfy these conditions, how come they didn't claim the House?" Harry asked. These things were inner knowledge of the high houses, and had never been revealed to Voldemort. Not to mention that, being somewhat new developments, Salazar hadn't known about them either.

The goblin continued reading from its file "It is because the family was dormant before now. Several people have indirect claim, yes, but it requires a strong, direct one to awaken such houses. However, now that the magic _are _awake, they acknowledge any significant claim, however distant.

It is similar for Gryffindor and Sharr, especially as Sharr wasn't even dormant. Your great-grandfather, Darius, had taken the lordship sometime in the beginning of this century. After that, it is a clear line of eligible heirs down to you. So dormancy was avoided. It doesn't help us any, as there are several people with secondary or tertiary claims.

No, the only possibility lies in Slytherin. Here are the necessary rules. The obvious blood relation is a must as always, but apart from that, absolute purity of blood for at least three generations is required, as are Parselmagic, and mind magic talent to the level of mastery.

You have a very strong relation, as the Slytherins married rather frequently with the Sharrs and the Blacks, both of which you are related to. This is addition to the fact that Rheanna Sharr was a Lamia, and in fact a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself, who, as we all know, had several Lamia consorts.

Now, there are several individuals that have very strong mind magic and others with some Parselmagic talent. But both, along with the needed purity… No, MisterPotter, there are none. I do believe you can become Lord Slytherin right now if you wish."

Harry kept his face emotionless, but inside his mind it was a great hurricane of possibilities. Plans that he'd been hesitant to think upon, resources he'd considered out of reach for a long time, they were his. Everything was now possible.

All of a sudden the world seemed a very small place.

With an effort, he brought his mind to the present. "So, there's no doubt, then? I can claim it right now?" he asked.

"Yes, it is so. The question that remains is that are you sure you want to, Mister Potter? It is my oath bound duty to tell you that taking such a step, it will mean entering a world that can and has chewed up and spit out wizards five times your age.

"Become paterfamilias of Slytherin, and you will need to make decisions that make and break entire races and nations, that can shape the future for millennia to come, to say the least. You will need to negotiate, to fight and to kill.

It is a hard task, and you have to be certain that you can do it." The goblin said with a tone that sounded as if it was discussing the weather outside.

This was something Harry knew very well. After all, his sole focus hadn't been on the benefits when he had thought of the Lordships. With great power came great responsibility, and Harry had no intention of failing. "Yes, I'm sure. I, Hadrian, Heir of Slytherin hereby put forward my claim to the title of Lord Slytherin, with all the rights, privileges and responsibilities that therein are. I vow to uphold the name and line of Slytherin, and bring to it great power and glory. This I swear, so it shall be." Harry said.

Within moments, he could feel the insidious, venomous power of the Slytherins seep through him, judging and evaluating him. He felt it measure out his core, and he felt it as the power wrenched at the bond that still limited it to less than half of what it truly was. The metaphorical chains elongated and twisted, but eventually held firm. Whatever Albus Dumbledore may be, weak he was not.

But the bindings would come later, Harry thought as he felt the magic continue through him. It surged again and again, immersing itself deep, much, much deeper even than what had happened at the time of his claiming the heir rings.

At last, it was over, and as the magic settled, he saw that the ring had changed. It was a Lord's ring now, and looked the part.

Of course, the real fun came now. Now he was the Lord of an eldritch house, recognized as an adult by every magical country on Earth. This meant that he had just neatly sidestepped all the rules keeping him away from his other Lordships.

Ten minutes and five oaths later, Harry was sitting in front of the goblin's desk, with it staring at him like he had three heads.

Aaaand, that's a wrap. Sorry for the delay, but unfortunately exams and fanfics don't mesh well. For any clarifications/suggestions/criticisms, leave a review, or give me a PM.

Blackshadow out


	6. Chapter 6

Eventually, the goblin recovered from its shock, and asked "So, what would you like to do now, your grace?"

Harry answered. "First of all, I invoke the word of Polaris. You shall not breathe a word of this to anyone without my express consent."

Harry knew that this was an absolute must when dealing with goblins. They were greedy little buggers, who would gladly sell their mothers, sisters, customers, even their souls (if they had any) to the highest bidder. For information as important as this they would be looking for buyers even before he left the bank.

But this little law was the only thing that could prevent that. Designed as a specific countermeasure to protect Noble families from the goblins, it dated back to the twelfth century, when Polaris Black had slaughtered over fifty thousand goblins in a single day, after an information leak caused by them had caused the death of his favorite son.

After that, the combined forces of the ministry and the families had, under the leadership of Polaris's close friends William Potter and Leonidas Malfoy forced the Goblin nation to acknowledge a new law.

They called it the word of Polaris, under which for every time a goblin revealed the details about the dealings of any Noble families, the entire Goblin nation would suffer repercussions amounting to losing a tenth of both its population and treasury.

The goblins had fought furiously against it, turning it into the third goblin rebellion. It was also what had finally resulted in the Black plague, as the Peverells unleashed their age old servants, the Dementors.

Fear was the only emotion that could overwhelm a goblin's greed. And it was not just normal fear of the repercussions an action might have, but true mind chilling terror, the kind that left the hardest of beings as little more than cowering wrecks. When they knew that unless they did exactly what they were asked, their entire nation would burn for it.

That was the driving force behind the Word of Polaris, and it had worked perfectly for eight centuries.

It was evident. The goblin showed no expression, but it there was a tremor in its tone as it said "Of course, discretion is the soul of Gringotts."

"After that, we shall need to be taken to my vaults, and I shall need a chequebook linked to my account, all securities attached. Apart from that, I shall require a full accounts summary, detailing all transactions from my accounts for the last twenty years.

"The transactions should be in the family ledgers, which are in the vaults. The summary itself, I have here." Was all that the Goblin said, before it handed over the file on its desk.

Reading it, Harry gave a whistle. The numbers on the page meant that he would not have to work a day in his life, should he choose to do so. The sum total of his liquid wealth alone went into the tens of billions, without counting any of the investments or properties.

Still, he would need it before too long, if his plans progressed as he intended them to.

"So let's go see the vaults then." He said.

They did so. Harry found himself ushered to a private cart by a different goblin, which took him straight to what at first seemed the bottom of the earth. After about ten minutes of superfast hurtling through the tracks, and shaking what the goblin called 'clankers', he was standing in front of a series of vaults that the goblin told him belonged to the Ancient and Noble families.

The first, quiet obviously, was the Potter vault. Entering, Harry saw the mountains of gold and silver that he expected, along with several things that he didn't, but his interest was currently in something else. Off the main chamber, in a small alcove were a number of leather bound books. These were what he was looking for.

Going over, he saw that there was two of almost everything, marked 'official' and 'unofficial'.

These were of course the formal titles, as a more accurate separation would be 'legal' and 'illegal'.

Taking ledgers for example, one contained the proper records, of potions ingredient supply contracts, the ward crafting orders that his family had received and fulfilled, not to mention the usual mentions of what percentage he owned of what. The contents of the other were far more interesting. Records of bribes supplied to officials, of black market trading and the portkeys and portals made for smuggling purposes.

It was similar for everything, the official deed books mentioned the properties he owned, the mines and farms and forests that contributed to what had once been a vast business empire.

On the other hand, the unofficial ones detailed the locations that supplied Grade XXX banned materials, forests where the ban on experimental breeding was summarily ignored, and played out mines where no one had ever heard of dragon breeding being a controlled activity.

Although the real kicker was that none of it was, strictly speaking, illegal. Through the ages that they remained on the top of the wizarding world, every old family generally acquired a set of indefinite licenses and special exemptions that allowed them to do pretty much whatever they liked.

Of course, those tended to be as easy to take away as they were granted, so things were kept secret just in case.

Harry took them all, shrinking and pocketing them along with the family Grimoire and the Lords' journal.

Both were extremely important, as a Grimoire was the total sum of all knowledge possessed by a family. It contained everything. Every single piece of magic that had ever been developed by a member was there, along with every single book that was in any of the family libraries.

The magic involved was rather complex. What happened was that whenever a member of the family bought a book, they were asked to simply enter it into the family database, which was a magical nexus that consisting of ancient divination magics.(true divination, which was simply the art of acquiring information by magic. Not the rubbish that Trelawney spouted). It was remarkably similar to the computers used by the muggles, in that it allowed instantaneous and unlimited sharing of information. Entering a book meant that it could be accessed by a number of 'allbooks' maintained by the families.

The Grimoire was simply the ultimate allbook.

It had been knowledge about such magics that had allowed Slytherin to work a spell into the Hogwarts wards so that every single book that entered the area was automatically and eternally accessible in both the chamber allbook and the Slytherin family Grimoire.

The Lords' journal was the information and advice left behind by each Head of the family to the next. It detailed things like favors owed and pieces of blackmail that were carefully mentioned and explained.

Moving deeper in, he came to the portraits, where he saw what he was looking for, the blank frame called simply the master frame. Designed as a counter to the problems that came when one wanted to talk to deceased family members, the master frame allowed the Lord of the family to summon any portrait belonging to the family into it.

Done with it, Harry repeated the whole procedure with the Black vault, and soon he was going even deeper into the Earth. Soon, he was at the Eldritch vaults, and was heading in the first one, it being Gryffindor.

Here too, there were mountains of gold and silver. Again, it wasn't what held his interest.

Looking for the books and the frame, he found them behind a door that required his ring to open. Soon, he had them. But he had something else in mind too, here. He recalled that in the Potter vault there had been an entire separated section full of some very particular objects. He hadn't been all that interested in them then, but these ones were different. For one, there were a number of what looked like toy buildings, inside small snow globes.

What happened was that through the years, every pureblood family occupied several separate houses. The number was especially high for families like the Eldritch houses that had emerged from the gods' loins before Atlantis itself was built. So there eventually was the problem of space. They owned only so much land, and becoming bored of houses was easy.

Well, it is said that need is the mother of inventions, so the solution was found in the form of 'bottled' estates. Entire manors, castles and palaces, shrunk and put in glass spheres the size of a modern day snow globe and stored away in bank vaults. When a future Lord felt like it, they could simply 'land' the properties wherever they wished.

This was soon followed by other things, farms, orchards and greenhouses all put away thus. Of course, having discovered such a handy little thing, they were hardly going to stop using it. Manors and businesses were soon followed by conquests when kings, after subjugating a city, decided they liked it, and 'bottled' the whole thing, intending to 'land' it in their own kingdom.

The pattern continued in the same way, till we come to Harry staring at thousands of shelves stuffed full of things like Midas's city of pure gold and a million year old manor that one of his ancestors had been particularly fond of.

Of course, this was not even the strangest thing Harry saw. He entered the next section and saw eggs.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of eggs, of all shapes and colors and sizes

He knew what these were. Magical families tended to be very particular in protecting animals, especially animals with monetary or military values.

Through selective breeding over many generations, the families tried to procure male and female representatives of nearly every species, and indeed, subspecies, within the magical world. They were trapped in their smallest infant forms, placed into magically induced comas, and placed within eggs like this. He had seen similar collections in the Potter and Black vaults, but they all paled in comparison to the Gryffindor.

Still, these things weren't something that concerned him too much right now, as he'd just stopped to take a look. He was out of the vault moments later, and had soon visited and taken what he wanted from the Peverell, Slytherin and Sharr vaults.

Soon, he was in the alley, where he commenced on a shopping trip to get some much needed things. The first thing was a completely new wardrobe in the finest fabrics available, followed by every single book that had been published since 1985. (That had been when Walburga Black had last updated the Black library).

This was followed by several years' worth of potions supplies, spare wands, and numerous other things he would need in his training. (The chamber had all these things, but Harry didn't see any point in depleting the reserves when he could buy them just as easily.)

At last, he was done. So, it was a simple matter of taking the portkey he had made for himself, and he was back in the chamber. He intended to put the acceleration at full power and get at least three to four years out of as many weeks. That would give him the time needed to finally master all the skills he had taken from Voldemort, not to mention the other skills he intended to learn.

After all, Voldemort was very knowledgeable, but all knowledge that he had managed to access was what was to be had, in some form or the other, in the public domain. In his youth, he had never had access to the _real_ treasure troves of magical knowledge, which were the libraries of the ancient families.

This was another place where his horcruxes had played a role in destroying him, as Harry knew for a fact that his once considerable thirst for knowledge was currently lying sealed within Ravenclaw's diadem in the Room of hidden things.

Meaning that when he did acquire heads of ancient and noble families as servants, he had no inclination to make use of their libraries.

But enough about all that, it was time to begin.

**Next day, Hogwarts headmaster's office**

Albus Dumbledore was worried. It seemed as that was more or less a perpetual state for him nowadays, but right now he was worried more than usual.

Harry had gone missing.

The boy had been on the Hogwarts express, and had gotten off on the platform nine and three quarters. That much the spells on the train had told him. It was what had happened afterwards that had the ancient wizard puzzled.

He had simply disappeared! One moment he disembarking the train, and the next he was gone. Not just that, it had to happen just when Dumbledore had no tracking spells on him.

He should have known. The freak magical accident that had destroyed those dementors had also destroyed Albus' measures to keep aware of Harry's whereabouts. Dumbledore had been thinking to go and recast them, along with doing a legilimentic scan to see just what had happened that night, but something had told him that to do so to a boy whose core and mind were so unstable would be a recipe for disaster.

And now the result was staring him in the face.

More than anyone in the world, Dumbledore knew just how important Harry was. He still remembered that it was just Harry that was currently standing in the way of the monster that was Tom Riddle.

Albus still remembered the nightmare that had begun that summer of sixty nine, when the last vestiges of the boy he had developed a grudging respect for died, leaving behind a monster that would change the definition of terror in the minds of the British wizarding populace.

He remembered the horrors as over the course of eleven years, the monster-that-was-once - a-man had corrupted so many of their best and brightest, making them do atrocities that left grown men shaking. The litany of sacrifices Albus had been forced to make to give the chance to return to the light was so horrible, it was almost worst than the direct crimes they'd committed.

Time after time men and women had died in droves, people who had trusted Albus, had placed themselves under his command, trusting him to lead them to a victory.

Dead, just so he could give the poor misguided souls another chance to seek redemption.

And then the prophecy had come like a ray of light through the dark clouds. Trelawney's words, said in this very office were the only thing that Albus believed could end the war. He had analyzed it a hundred times, and had gotten the same result every time. It had to be done. The prophecy would have to be fulfilled, there was no alternative.

But for that to happen, Voldemort would have to know about it.

So Albus had held another interview. This time in a place where he knew was frequented by death eaters and sympathizers. It had worked beautifully, Snape getting exactly as much as Albus wanted him to hear, and had set Tom on the trail of his own downfall.

Then little Harry had one the impossible, and Albus's plans had borne immediate fruit. Only, unable to suppress the scholar within himself, he had snagged the child out of his burning home and brought it to Hogwarts to run a few tests.

What he had seen was horrifying. This child was no savior, it was the avatar of evil!

Albus had detected Necromancy and Parseltongue in the child. Such evil and dark abilities at such a young age! Who knew what he would become?

If it had been just that, Albus could even have tolerated it.

But the child had the largest magical core Albus had ever seen. In fact, it was a little more than that of an extremely powerful adult wizard.

A sixty year old, extremely powerful adult _dark_ wizard

Hm... It seemed that the prophecy had been more literal than he'd thought.

'Marked as his equal', indeed.

Albus had been left with no choice but to bind the boy's powers. He had to, the boy was going to be living with muggles after all, and even if Albus ignored the nature of his talents (which he never would), the size of the core alone meant that he would flatten half of Surrey in a tantrum the first time he did accidental magic.

And then it had been the mental spells. After all, the boy couldn't be allowed to be too intelligent or ambitious, as then he would be prone to discover the spells, and all of Albus's work would have been in vain.

Not to mention the fact that such things had a tendency of making the person in question rather fond of life. Albus couldn't have that; he needed Harry to think that he was completely unworthy to live. After all, that was a key point of Voldemort's defeat.

Harry Potter would have to give himself up for a death, knowing that Voldemort was the kind of person that could and would make it long and painful.

Very, _very _long and painful, but that was a necessity.

After all, it wasn't as if he could ask the necromancers' guild to spare the twenty minutes that it would take them to do an exorcism, could he?

The very idea was ridiculous. He, Albus Dumbledore, going to those evil soulless fiends for help!

How did those young people say it? Not Bloody Likely.

There was also the fact that Harry himself did not deserve to live. Even if Albus could have done something (and to be honest, he could have done a lot), there was the fact that Harry had already manifested two of the most evil gifts known to wizardkind. Who knew how many more were on the way?

It wouldn't do at all if Harry killed Voldemort only to replace him, even more so as Harry's powers meant that he would be a much worse nightmare. Dumbledore had lived through two dark Lords. He had no intention to allow the rise of a third one who could be much worse than the last two combined.

No, best let both remove each other.

Although…, he'd been somewhat bothered about the muggles, given the way Minerva had spoken of them. He'd thought about checking up on Harry, but then he'd remembered that cute letter Petunia had written all those years ago. Nah, there was no need. Petunia _loved_ magic. Minerva was just getting paranoid.

Besides, he had several much more important things to do.

**Four weeks later (real time) Morning, Hills outside Hogsmeade**

A figure dressed in navy blue robes left the cave that was one of the numerous secret exits of the chamber of secrets.

Harry left the chamber a very different person. What had gone in was a young, recently emancipated boy, knowledgeable but only somewhat. The young man who left was another matter altogether. During the four years he had spent training, he had worked tirelessly, learning and mastering each and every piece of magic he had been able to get his hands on.

He had started with first thoroughly completing the Hogwarts syllabus. Every single spell, potion, calculation was read, analyzed and mastered. After that, it was the vocational knowledge. Through the master frame, he had, over a long period of time, absorbed and assimilated the knowledge of as many of his ancestors as he could manage.

There had been ward crafters, obliviators, aurors, enchanters, potions masters, spellsmiths, dark Lords, necromancers, blood mages, the list went on.

Harry had known that every single skill of every single ancestor was too big a goal for now, but he had made a point out of making it as large a variety as possible. He had actually held off somewhat on the more arcane magics specialists like the aforementioned necromancers and blood mages. This was because those portions of his core were still suppressed.

Speaking of suppressions, he had started on a series of potions and enchantments that would, over time do away with the bindings. It was slow work, but necessary.

Nor had been training the only thing he'd done. There had been copious amounts of planning, and several surprises.

_**Flashback:**_

_It had been roughly six weeks since he started training. He'd completed everything there was or had ever been on the Hogwarts curriculum, and had carefully inventoried everything from the Potter, Black and Peverell estates._

_It was a task made easier by the fact that instead of wasting time reading all the ledgers and books, he'd assimilated the memories of the last Lord of each family from their portraits. It didn't mean that he didn't read the books as that would be plain _stupid_, but it made the whole thing quite a bit simpler. But that was done, and now it was time to start on the Sharrs. _

_Tapping his ring on the Sharr master frame, he said "Lord Darius Sharr". Within moments, a portrait appeared in the frame. Harry looked at the man, and stared._

_The man stared right back._

_Now one thing to be remembered was that before now, he'd simply summoned the people, talked a bit, laughed a bit with them,( the fact that he didn't feel emotions did not mean that he wouldn't fake he did), and then asked their permission for the assimilation._

_If they gave it, well and good, otherwise he ignored them and did it anyway._

_But the relevant fact was that things had been as he'd expected. No real surprises._

_This time, not so._

_It wasn't so, because staring at him from the frame was a face he knew very well. The aristocratic chin, a hawk like nose, golden hair and cerulean eyes with that tinge of cruelty that had made this man's name the synonym of terror from Berlin to Paris._

_It was the face of Gellert Grindelwaldt._

"_Well, are you going to stare at me all day, boy? The portrait spoke, bringing him out of his haze. Immediately, his occlumency asserted itself, reigning in every bit of the shock he felt._

_When he answered, it was with a clear mind. "Well, no, it's just that you're not quite what I expected when I called for Darius Sharr. You see, I've just become Lord of several families, including Sharr, and I'm getting some information about the assets I now own."_

"_By ripping it out of peoples' minds?" he said._

_Harry stared, wondering just how he knew._

_Sensing the unasked question, the man answered " Don't look at me like that boy, I'm no ordinary painting. Sensing my surroundings is only one of the extra abilities I was painted with, and the taint of mind magic lies heavily upon the air."_

"_Well, yes. That is what I've been doing." Harry said with a shrug._

"_Good. That's what I did. It saves a lot of time. And before you ask, yes you can assimilate my memories. Best keep away from the magical knowledge, though, for now. You don't look like you can quite handle it. At least, keep away from the major part. You're welcome to the five years of Durmstrang that I attended." Grindelwaldt responded. _

_Harry gave another shrug. He had no intention to absorb the magical knowledge of the only man ever considered Dumbledore's equal just yet._

_Seeing the man nod, he looked the portrait in the eye, and in another moment, he was in. After that, it took just moments to take the needed memories. Another few moments to strip them of all emotions, personal bias, etc., and he was set._

_Of course, seeing as he wasn't completely stupid, he ran the mind magic version of what the muggles called an 'antivirus' through them, looking for thought bombs, personality overlays, and all the usual (and quite a few very unusual) traps. Surprisingly, there were none. It seemed that Grindelwaldt had, actually managed to resist the temptation of resurrecting himself in a thirteen year old body._

_A wise thing to so, as Harry had very carefully engraved runes on the wall behind every painting (including Salazar's, and by Merlin had that been difficult) designed to release fiendfyre in ten minutes unless Harry willed otherwise._

_Merging the memories into his own, he suddenly knew all the details of the Sharr family, and started analyzing them in depth, seeing just where they tied in with his other resources._

_**Flashback end**_

But now, it was done. Not that he was finished learning (That was something that he had no intention of ever letting happen), but he now had enough in terms of skills, knowledge and prepared plans, that he felt properly prepared for what he was going to do.

There were four cornerstones of power. The first was wealth, the second was influence in the government, the third was prestige, and the fourth was force.

To be any successful, Harry needed to acquire all four as fast as possible and in as large amounts as possible. To that end, it was now time to put his plans in motion.

But first, he needed to secure his complete independence.

To that end, the first visit Harry made was to the Ministry of Magic, the Department of Magical Education.

There, he put in a request to immediately sit for both his OWLs and NEWTs in Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, DADA and Herbology. He left out Divination and History of Magic, as he did need an excuse to remain at Hogwarts if he chose to.

Normally, a request like that took nearly a week to be processed, and at least three to four days before the applicant received an owl with the schedule.

It sat with the clerk, where it was submitted, for a full day before it went to the examinations authority. There, it passed back and fro for roughly four days, getting signed and countersigned, till it landed on the desk of Overseer, Special Arrangements. Being as things were, it sat there for another day, before it was stamped 'approved', and sent down to the clerk in charge of scheduling. He picked a day out of several free days and sent out the owl to the applicant. This took another day.

Then, he sent a memorandum to the archives where numerous sets of question papers were kept in reserve for this very purpose.

When the clerk received the affirmative response from the applicant, he took out his scheduler, a chart with names and room numbers on it, and marked one as 'reserved' for the appropriate dates and timings, along with the applicant's name.

However, it being a government department, the officials were nothing if not corrupt. Harry's name, along with a two hundred galleon cheque quietly placed in the clerk's pocket, followed by ones of increasingly higher amounts in those of successively higher officials, meant that he was being shown to a room about half an hour after he came to the ministry.

Once there, it took him about three hours to complete all of the papers, which were normally spread over a two week schedule.

Done, he followed it with another cheque to the clerk responsible for the results, extracting a promise to get Professor Tofty on the papers right away.

He could have avoided all of this by simply going to Marchbanks or Fudge, his name would have gotten the job done easily enough.

But there were several problems with that. Marchbanks was a true, died in the wool Dumbledorean, while "The pocket of Lucius Malfoy" may as well have been Fudge's official address.

And Harry had no inclination to let either party become aware of what he was doing quite so soon.

Alternatively, he could have just used his fame, avoiding the matter of the money. That too, while a viable option, had consequences. After all, there would be other transactions.

He needed both their silence and goodwill, and the oldest and truest way of getting that from someone was to buy it. Well, apart from blackmailing them, but Neither Charlus nor Orion had bothered with lowly Department of Magical Education officials in their day.

Of course, an added benefit was that the prolonged contact with a large number of people allowed him some much needed practice with legilimency (which _did_ get him valuable pieces of blackmail for the future)

His visit to the Department of Magical Education was followed by ones to the Department of Magical Transport, The DMLE, The Department of Magical Games and Sports, The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and quite a few lesser known offices, applying for and securing Apparition and Portkey creation licenses, along with ones for Obliviation, Legilimency and just about everything that was available.

Of course, the sheer amount of information he managed to glean about the dirty secrets of the people working there was priceless. The fact that the Triwizard tournament would be held at Hogwarts that year paled in comparison, as did the quidditch world cup.

Of course, the real jewel of the trip was what he discovered in the mind of Ludo Bagman, the Director for Magical Games and Sports. It seemed that Mr. Bagman was quite deep in debt with the goblins, owing them to the tune of about fifteen thousand galleons.

To compound things, he'd gone on to bet it all on the Quidditch world cup finals, meaning that if he won it would solve all his problems, _and _get him a very nice retirement package. If he lost, though, it would mean being buried so deep in debt his grandchildren would be ruined paying the interest.

That was, unless Harry interjected. Which he had every intention of doing, just not yet. For now, he had left behind a compulsion to double the debt, making a mental note to buy it as soon as possible.

His personal tasks done and freedom now secure, it was time for more serious arrangements.

His next stop was at the archives, although not before he put away his wand, replacing it with one of the spares from the chamber of secrets. This was followed by spells to scramble his magical signature, one to completely hide his scent, a notice-me-not charm on his face, along with voice modulation spells on his throat.

Just in case, though, he entered a loo and left a completely different person, his body morphed into one he had created after combining features from several of his ancestors, while the robes adjusted to their new measurements.

It had eventually turned out that he was a metamorphmagus. It had been one of several abilities suppressed by Dumbledore, but Harry, Darius and Salazar had all agreed it was too useful to allow remain suppressed.

His preparations complete, it took him about half an hour at the registry of ancient and noble houses to forge several new people into existence.

He had eventually decided against making common knowledge the truth about his heritage. Being the head of six families, while it gave him enormous power, was bound to make people very nervous when dealing with him.

And so Aries Pollux Black, born 1968, the long lost younger brother of Sirius and Regulus Black came into being. It was actually rather easy when it came down to it. After all, for the Noble families it was always the Paterfamilias who drew up birth certificates. And Harry had learned to forge Arcturus's signature from the man himself.

The birth certificate was followed by a note mentioning that the boy would be home schooled, as his health was frail and his parents didn't want him at Hogwarts. Next were the OWL and NEWT marks(12 Outstandings apiece) , followed by a passport with a stamp for magical china, which was the single most insulated magical nation in the world.

All in all, a pureblooded brilliant young man, who had spent several years out of the country, and had just returned to his roots to take control of his heritage. The black ring on his finger would ensure that no one would so much as think of questioning his identity.

Similar efforts brought into life two more men, called Erebus Timonzel Sharr, (the loving brother of Liliana Aideen Sharr), and Damien Ezekiel Peverell, respectively.

The Potter, Slytherin and Gryffindor families, Harry would claim under his own name.

These measures would allow him to wield the combined influence of six families, without being fingered as having too much power too soon.

When, about a couple years later, all three of the men had accidents, leaving him their estates…

Well, it was hardly his fault, was it?

His final task at the ministry done, he made his way to the atrium. There, he apparated to Goldia Alley, a subsidiary alley to Diagon, housing all of the HQs and offices of the Magical world.

There, he looked around and soon spotted 19, Goldia Alley. The buttercup yellow building that was the office of Talbot, Smith and Boot, solicitors of the Potter family.

He had ventured out of the chamber a few days go to send Hedwig requesting an appointment. It was in half an hour, but he had a feeling the man in question would be all too glad to see him early.

Going in, he asked to be taken to Lord Talbot. Within minutes, he was ushered to a door with a gold leaf plaque that read 'Ralph Talbot, Senior Partner'. The usher knocked, to receive a curt "Come in" from the occupant.

Harry and the man entered to see a middle aged man sitting behind his desk, going through a file. Looking up, he saw Harry, face breaking into a smile "Hello, Mister Potter, or should I say, Lord Wilmington?" He asked, seeing the ring on Harry's finger.

"Either will do just fine, Lord Talbot." Harry answered.

"Well, Lord Wilmington, coming straight to the point, what can I do for you?" he said, pulling out a notepad.

Harry rattled off a string of orders "First of all, I need you to draw up the paperwork for the formation of a new company. I want it incorporated, and trading through subsidiaries.

After that, you know about the boy who lived adventure books? Find out everyone involved in their publishing, and issue writs for misuse of my image to the publishers. As for the authors, tell them they'll have to deal with you if they don't want to continue writing the books from Azkaban.

Once that's done, I want you to see these addresses. All of them have their rental contracts coming up for renewal in a few days or so. You'll need to refuse all of them, as I need them free for my own use."

Reading the list, Talbot frowned. "Are you sure, Lord Wilmington? The residences and Diagon alley plots are no problem. There isn't anyone of consequence there. But this one, it's right down the street from here. And the firm in question is a powerful one." He, said, indicating 15, Goldia alley.

"Yeah, I'm sure. After all, I need a headquarters for the company I just asked you to draw up the papers for."

"Ah, yes. Fine then. Name of the company?"

"Make it….. Althric. Althric Inc.

Oh, and open up a subsidiary, a publishing house called Althric's Chroniclers. Then award it all primary rights to my image. Tell those authors about it, and issue a cease and desist order to all publishers printing anything about me"

"O.K., about the writs, you know they'll try to settle, don't you.?"

" Yeah, I do. Offer them that we won't prosecute for….. say, forty percent of the total profits they've made till date, followed by ten percent of anything they make in the future. Throw in secondary rights to my image."

"Very well. Will there be anything else, Lord Wilmington?" asked the lawyer.

"This shall suffice for now, thank you." Harry answered.

"Understood. I will have the papers and the writs prepared for you to sign in a few hours. May I ask if you will be here, or should I owl them?"

"Owl them. I've got several more things to do today, and it would be difficult to make it back." Harry said.

"All right then, your grace. Look out for it tomorrow morning." The solicitor said, before rising.

They shook hands, and Harry was off.

It was time to deal with Voldemort.

He apparated. Immediately, he was standing in front of a derelict old house, with bits of snakeskin sill hanging off its front door. As he moved forward, the wards on the place activated. Tree branches became serpents, the telltale power of an anti-disapparation jinx blanketed itself over the area.

There were more things to come, but he was in no mood to deal with them. He knew what he had to do. The wards would not stop doing what they were programmed to do, not unless he stopped them. "_Stop. Lord Voldemort commands it." _He said in parseltongue.

They did. The trees returned to normal. The walls of the house, which had been bubbling to release new horrors, smoothed over once again. The jinx faded.

After that, it took him five minutes to retrieve the golden box that contained the ring of Marvolo Gaunt. He didn't touch it, keeping it afloat magically. He knew for a fact that there was an extremely powerful Withering Curse on the ring.

Thinking of the ring, he couldn't help but chuckle.

Hadn't _that _been a surprise.

_**Flashback:**_

_Harry was discussing how to remove soul fragments from vessels without damaging the vessels it wasn't going all that well._

_Salazar and Darius had both confessed to never have had much interest in Horcruxes. The other heads of the houses had given some leads, but progress was slow. _

_The most promising results had come from the Peverells, and Harry had been going backwards through the Lords trying to find something before he gave up and hit the books. He thought it was too bad that magical portraits were a comparatively recent invention, being roughly ten or so million years old. Had he possessed one dating back to the middle-earthen era, all his problems would have been solved._

_After all, Sauron Peverell had __**invented**_ _horcruxes. He was bound to know all there was to know about them._

_But enough of what ifs. He'd been thinking about something Grindelwaldt had said, upon hearing the description of the ring horcrux.  
"A black stone engraved with a triangle containing a circle and a straight line?" are you sure, Harry? I mean, are you absolutely certain?"_

"_Yes, I am. Why? What's so special about it? I mean, except that it's your mark, of course." Harry'd said._

_He had thought about why Grindelwaldt's mark had been on that stone, but he'd figured that Morfin or Marvolo must have been a fan. That was what Tom thought too. _

"_Because that mark means that you've unknowingly done what thousands have tried to do and failed. You have found Cadmus's masterpiece, the resurrection stone itself._

_**End Flashback**_

The bloody resurrection stone. The wet dream of every necromancer on earth, and one of the three artifacts that together held the power to grant a person true divinity.

The witch or wizard who united the Deathly Hallows would be the master of death. The sheer level of power that meant…

Because being the master of death was much, much more than being a necromancer or being immortal. Second to magic, death was the greatest force in existence. Its mastery meant absolute control over something that could and had destroyed entire pantheons of gods in the past, and complete freedom from all laws, whether of magic or man.

After all, no laws applied to the dead.

There was so much more, but right now he had work to do.

He could think of the mastery of death later, especially about what it meant for him, when he considered the ring along with the cloak that he knew for a fact was older than the earliest civilizations known to muggles.

With a flick of Harry's wand, the box disappeared, banished to a specially prepared dungeon in the Chamber of Secrets.

His work there done, Harry vanished with a slight pop, appearing in one of the numerous back streets of Great Hangleton. "Point me homeless man" he said, wand on his palm. Following the spell, he stunned a hobo, before turning him into a toy.

Putting the man in his pocket, he turned and disapparated soundlessly, appearing near a certain cave.

A quick bloodletting from the man(now back to human), and he was in. Making his way to where he knew the chain to bring up the boat was(the hobo trailing behind courtesy of a quick mobilicorpus), he flicked his wand. Immediately, the chain became visible, at the same time as it started pooling on the floor, while a shadow grew in the lake.

Within moments, he was in the boat, and another few seconds had him at the island pedestal. There, he opened the man's mouth wide, and petrified him so he remained that way.

Then it was a simple matter of conjuring a goblet and pouring the potion that he knew to be the Drought of Dementia (another Slytherin family recipe), down his throat. The man started shuddering, but the spells held.

When the basin became empty, Harry picked up the locket. It was followed by a quick piece of magic to turn the man into a replica of the locket, which he left in the basin, which was filling up with the potion again out of the nearly five gallons that Harry knew Tom had left there.

Within minutes Harry was out of the cavern, ready to apparate, only to frown as he realized something. Among the skills he had developed was the power to sense magic. It was a precursor to opening the third eye (which he couldn't do yet, thanks to Dumbledore again). And as he focused on the locket, he could tell one thing.

Whatever it was, this locket was not a horcrux.

Opening it, Harry saw a piece of paper. After reading it, he barely suppressed the urge to groan. Great, juuust great. Abso-bloody-lutely brilliant. It was gone. Some moron had come by, and stolen the damn thing.

Crushing his anger, Harry forced himself to think clearly. The note called Voldemort as 'the Dark Lord'. In the last war, that meant there was a ninety-nine percent probability that the writer was a former death eater, or at least a sympathizer . Harry went over just who knew about the cave.

There had been those two kids, Bishop and that girl all those years ago. Some death eater could have researched and found them in Voldemort's past, then forced them to bring them here. Possible, but too unlikely.

Then there was.. no one. Voldemort had dug out the cavern using inferi, he himself had cast the spells. No one else was involved. Well, there was that elf, but it was dead by now. It had to be, no one could survive the inferi at the top of the potion.

No, he was better off focusing on the name.

R.A.B. hm…

Given that the man was most likely a death eater or a sympathizer, the B had to be a pureblood name.

Bullstrode? Possible.

Bagnold? Unlikely, but possible

Bagman? Unlikely.

Bell? _Very _unlikely.

Bones? Nah.

Black? _Definitely _possible. Actually, the only Black family death eater was….Regulus…Arcturus… Black.

That had to be it! Come to think of it, the Blacks were old necromancers, second only to the Peverells. If anyone would have detailed knowledge on soul magics, it would be them.

If Regulus was the thief, then a very good choice for the hiding place was his house. From what Harry remembered, he'd lived at the London townhouse of the Black family.

12, Grimmauld place, if memory served.

A second later he was standing in the middle of Grimmauld Place. looking at the buildings, there was no number twelve.

It was protected, obviously. Channeling his power through the Black signet, Harry willed the house to appear.

Within moments, Harry saw the buildings pushed backwards, revealing a building that must have once been a great house, but was now nothing more than a disgrace.

Entering, Harry made a mental note to buy an elf for this place as soon as possible.

Passing through the foyer, he walked deeper into the house and came to the parlor. A massive staircase descended from the back wall and broke into separate stairs rising to what were likely the upper floors, of which he knew for a fact there were four total. Dusty couches and chairs lay haphazardly about a large fireplace that was currently unlit.

"This place is a disgrace," he muttered, reiterating his earlier thoughts as he walked towards the large staircase in the back of the room. Less than half the way up, the curtains of a portrait at the middle landing flew open. _She looks even more horse-like than Aunt Petunia…_

"Invaders!" the woman screeched, "come to violate my noble house, no doubt! Kreacher! _Kreacher!_"

He really, _really _wasn't in the mood for this. Narrowing his eyes in swelling anger, Harry brandished the family ring and snarled, "Silence! You will address me with _respect!_"

The woman's eyes widened almost comically in her frame as she beheld his form dressed in his finery and brandishing the Black crest on his finger.

Harry turned as a slight pop sounded a few feet left of him.

Seeing what was there, he thought "_So the elf survived after all_"

His eyes widened slightly at the apparent _age_ of the thing.

"Mistress called…"the thing trailed off and fixed Harry with a glare "Filthy mudbloods bothering mis—"

Okay, that was it. The gloves were off.

Harry cut the elf off with a banishing hex and sent him flying into a nearby banister; he struck it at speed and crumpled to the floor. "You will address me as _master_," he bit out, leveling his wand at the creature. The grayed head slowly lifted and stared at the ring flashing at his side. "This house is a disgrace. You shame the House of Black_!_"

"M-your grace I-" the elf started to whine, before Harry cut him off again.

"Spare me your excuses. Tell me, the Dark Lord took you a cave when he was alive. He fed you a potion that should have killed you. _How did you return alive?_" Harry asked.

"Kre-Kreacher's master Regulus said to come back, so Kreacher came back." It muttered.

Harry nodded. There was nothing higher for a house elf than its master's bidding. "Very well. I know that Regulus asked you to take him to the cave, and that one of you somehow brought back a locket. You must have tried to destroy it. Did you succeed?"

"No master" the elf said, eyes wide in shock.

"Fine. Bring it to me." Harry said.

The elf vanished with a small pop, reappearing a few moments later carrying what Harry knew to be the original locket. Harry ordered it to put the locket on the ground. Rummaging in his pockets, Harry pulled out a shrunken box. Levitating the locket inside, he flicked his wand, banishing the locket to another prepared room in the chamber.

His work done, Harry said to the elf in a tone much kinder than before. "Listen Kreacher. I became the Lord of Black some days ago. I know that you have been terribly alone for the last ten years, but this condition of the house is not acceptable. You will either bring it to where it should have been, or you will receive clothes and be replaced. Is that clear?"

"Yes, master. Thank you master. Kreacher will not fail you. Kreacher will clean all house. Kill nasty pests, Kreacher will." The elf said, bobbing its head.

"Very well. Now, I'm going out for some business. I may or may not be back today." He said tersely, before dissaparating.

The cup was almost too easy to get. Harry went to Gringotts, demanding and receiving a meeting with Grithlauk the greedy, manager of the Sharr account, which was Harry's biggest account at the bank. Seeing his ring, the goblins almost ran to get the goblin in question.

Meeting it, Harry asked the Goblin to summon the director of the inheritance section, along with the account managers for Potter, Black, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Peverell. When they were there, he excused the goblin from the word of Polaris, allowing it to tell the other goblins. This was followed by Harry ordering the goblins to alter their records to show Aries, Erebus and Damien as the new Lords for Black, Sharr and Peverell respectively.(Well, not _their _records, but the records they would show any enquirer.)

That done, he ordered the Lestrange vaults merged into the Black one, something that was very much his right, given the fact that Lestrange was a house Vassal to the Black.

One quick trip down to the vaults later the cup had joined the other Horcruxes in the chamber.

Having decided to deal with the diadem later, Harry went back into the alley, funneling power into the Potter signet, willing it to guide him as he disapparated.

Deep in Wales, age old wards over a splendid manor house detected an incoming apparition. Identifying the person, they spread wide open, welcoming their master.

Lord Wilmington was home.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A.N:

Welcome to the seventh chapter of The Chronicles of Camelot. This chapter contains several references to things both from real life and other fanfics, so I must say that anything you recognize, I don't own.

The next several days were rather busy for Harry. As it was, opening a new company in the magical world involved quite a bit of work. Once he'd received the initial paperwork from Talbot, he had to make several more visits to both the ministry and Gringotts.

There were people to bribe, mines and land to be registered as company assets, employees to poach from other businesses, and a thousand other things.

Then there were the publishers against whom Harry had decided to act. As he'd known, they did indeed want to settle. So much so, that they had taken the first offer they'd gotten for it.

Then, to get a head start on his plans, Harry had ended up spending nearly five million Galleons buying out three of the main offenders, which he merged into Althric's chroniclers. Once he controlled them, he went through them with a fine toothed comb, identifying just which of the staffers were actually capable workers, and which ones were there just so purebloods could have a job.

Apart from that, there was the company itself. During his time in the chamber, Harry had decided upon a number of directions that it would move in. A lot of the plans came from magic that was practiced eons ago, and several were inspired from the things Muggles were doing today. (He'd been surprised to discover just how many things satisfied both criteria).

For example, there were the little candies called Inception Lozenges. Utilizing the art of assimilation, they allowed a person to learn a completely new concept in a matter of hours at the very most. They weren't perfect, mainly as there was an abominable forgetting speed, but it was still good enough to give a basic grasp of whatever subject one took them for.

When the House of Slytherin was thriving, they'd been common everywhere, bought chiefly by parents who wanted to give their children a decent education but lacked the time. But once it fell into dormancy, the production stopped (Memory assimilation was a very closely guarded Slytherin Family Secret, and the patents for the lozenges were never sold).

That was just one avenue. Old scrying spells used as long ago as Middle Earth and Alagaësia far outstripped any broadcasting speed ever managed by Muggles. Communication mirrors that would make the Floo completely outdated (at least for communication) were in the pipeline, along with other things.

Oh yes, Harry had many plans indeed.

But first, he would need to get all those sources of raw materials in order. To that end, he'd visited his vassals that were supposed to maintain the estates.

In the magical world, 'vassal' was little more than a synonym for 'slave', although making this comparison was complete anathema in polite company.

The truth was, the true size of England was more than three times the size believed by the Muggles. While the nobles of the Muggles' courts had long since lost any authority to rule, the same was only partially true for wizarding Britain.

This also had to do with the Wizengamot. Around a millennium ago, Britain had been ruled by her greatest king, which was Arthur Pendragon. After his death, he had left behind two extremely important legacies, which were instrumental in shaping Britain into what it was today. One was the Noble court, with Nine Ancient and Noble families, Six Eldritch families and several lesser houses.

The other was the round table. The knights, eleven in number, were charged by him at his deathbed to guard the peace of Britain, no matter the cost.

When the nation sank back into the constant civil war that Uther(Arthur's father) and Merlin had raised it from, it was the knights had the unenviable task of enforcing peace.

They did so.

Thousands died, until the knights secured the agreements of the Lords of the Ancient and Noble Houses, and that of the Lords of the Eldritch houses, to form a new governing council. The families pooled their resources, and dragged the other families, often kicking and screaming, to the negotiation table. But the families did come, and the creation of the Wizengamot harkened the end to the conflict. The ancient weapons of war were sealed away, creation of new ones deemed forbidden, and peace had come. One of the clauses of the agreements was that each family was to release at least half their vassal populations and a third of their lands, so that the nation may breathe free.

They did so, but a lot more remained. The remaining lands were acknowledged the private properties of the families, although they retained their feudal names.

The Duchies of Shacklegrave, Gryphonsworth and Parsellsia, the Earldom of Wilmington, the Baronetcy of Blackwater were all estates spread over tens of thousands of acres, home to numerous villages and hamlets, all populated by vassals to the families of Sharr, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Potter and Black respectively.

It was these vassals that mined the mines, harvested the animal and plant parts from the forests, and so on. They were the people Harry visited, as he tried to get Althric Inc. on its feet. What he found was at the same time heartening and disappointing.

What was heartening was that the number of the vassals was high. This was because there really hadn't been much in terms of heavy activity from the Potter and Black families in recent times, while Grindelwald had never really managed to use the thousands of loyal Sharr vassals at his command. So the vassal settlements had had a lot of time to populate, meaning that they were running very nicely indeed. This would also prove to Harry a huge advantage in the 'force' part of the four cornerstones of power, as this was the base from which personal armies were traditionally drawn from.

On the other hand, the level of education they possessed was simply disappointing. Few had any knowledge above what they were trained to do, and in the case of the dormant families, even the trained workers were few. Fortunately, there was at least an easy solution to the latter problem, if not the first. Harry uprooted several families from the Black, Potter and Sharr estates to the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Peverell ones, so that they may settle there and train the people there.

As for the first, he was working on something, but it was still too early to say anything.

In any case, he extracted solemn promises to begin work as soon as possible from them, while he set about improving their conditions as soon as possible.

One thing he did was to 'land' several estates from his vaults into the lands he owned. The purpose was not to live in them, but something entirely different.

He was going to build factories.

The one major problem with making enchanted objects was that they almost always had to be hand crafted. Automation was very nearly impossible in the magical world.

Or rather, Automation _had been_ very nearly impossible in the magical word. Harry knew that he could do it. Making a prototype in the chamber, he _had_ done it.

The problem was that almost every major piece of magic required strong emotions. There were pieces that didn't, and others that didn't but people thought they did, but both these kinds were few and in far between.

And emotions were one thing that simply had to be produced by a human. Ergo, enchanted articles coming out on conveyor belts? Impossible.

Harry's answer consisted of two words: Emotional reservoirs.

Crystals, carrying mental runes derived from those used in Pensieves, could be used to record and store emotions perfectly, emotions that could later be used along with other crystals to serve as power sources, allowing full automation. It had been tried before with little success, but then not everyone was Harry Potter.

It was a wondrous discovery, one which would change the face of magic if he ever publicized it. As things right now were, he had absolutely no intention to do so.

As the largely uneducated nature of the vassals made them worthless for it, Harry raised a number of golems, using them to do the hard lifting, while he crafted enchantments to direct the construction.

Another thing he did was to upgrade their living conditions.

Before, they'd lived in pre-Victorian style huts, which were relatively uncomfortable and took up too much space.

What Harry had done was to acquire a considerable amount of construction materials, and use them to build huge blocks of apartments with four-five rooms, establishing every one of his people in style at half the space it'd taken them to live in squalor. For labourers there was the ever-present force of golems, which did the job better than any Muggle labourers.

Still, he hadn't managed to escape using Muggles, as the Inferi and golems could only work if they had a capable director. To that purpose, he'd picked up the memories of several of the world's best engineers, architects and builders, and used them to enchant a magical nexus.

Once again, Harry had to ponder the similarities between magic and technology. Few people ever understood just how similar a spell matrix, or something like the aforementioned nexus, was to a computer program. A magical nexus involved numerous separate spells and occasionally potions, which were tied into a central string of spells that were called 'decisive' spells. These spells decided which magic activated at what time, at what intensity, and so on.

Taking the construction nexus for example, the decisive spells were spells to ensure that the golems didn't obstruct each other, that they climbed the floors correctly, that they didn't confuse the sand for the cement, and that they didn't keep building the same floor again and again, things like that. The other spells were many more. Spells to mix the concrete perfectly, spells to dry the cement within moments, spells to ensure the perfection of the geometry, it went on. Had Harry wanted, he could have skipped the labour altogether. Levitation and propulsion spells would do the job well enough. But again, he saw no need to waste energy while there were perfectly good resources just waiting to be used.

All these things were separate, however, to the efforts Harry made in the Muggle world.

Before he did anything there, Harry had decided that his knowledge about them was rather lacking. So, the first and biggest priority was to remedy this. To this end all he needed to do was to make a tour through London. Taking memories left and right and piecing them together, he discovered nearly everything he needed.

First was the matter of identities. Just about everything he intended to do with the Muggles was illegal, and he had absolutely no intention of allowing repercussions to come to him. In today's world, creating new identities meant a beyond perfect knowledge of both forgery and computers. The first thing he did was to visit the heads of the Cybercrimes and White collar divisions of Scotland Yard. What he wanted, and took from them, were the names of the topmost criminals in both fields.

Once he had the names, it was as simple a matter as taking a magical map woven with divination magic for this very purpose, and using the 'point me' spell with their names.

The next second he was looking at a yard by yard location.

Even in today's weakened magical world, almost all decent wizards learned to fool such measures, but with the people in question being Muggles, enough said. He found that there were quite a lot of people in both categories, each with their own areas of specialty. Keeping in mind what he needed to do later, he took memories from all of them.

Once he had the memories of the topmost forgers and cybercriminals of the world, it was time to track down weapon dealers, spies, and other such shady characters, locating them and assimilating memories till he had all the skills he needed. While he was at it, he had taken the time to visit and rape the minds of some of the worlds' leading bankers, industrialists and political analyst still he was confident of his ability to do whatever he needed without any problems.

Now fully aware of what he had to do, Harry began with creating a persona. Going back to his fictional person's birthdates, he then worked up an ordinary and unremarkable back-story for his character. The first thing to do was to create a birth certificate, an identical entry in the register of the hospital in question, and an appropriate memory in the mind of the alleged issuer. This was followed by a nanny, once more with appropriate memory modification. That was in turn, followed by a crèche, then a playschool, and finally nursery school.

After nursery, the real mind magic work began. There were school yearbooks to doctor, library cards to be issued and used, memories put in place in the minds of the teachers, and in those of fellow students.

Rinse and repeat for college, adding drinking buddies, classmates and girlfriends, and he was done.

Doing all this (and so much more), he decided against limiting himself and created a full dozen lily-white identities on every major nation on earth, along with hundreds of disposable ones. They would all see their uses soon enough, though a large number would be kept for emergency purposes.

Exactly what he intended to do with them was manifold. He had, in the chamber, developed a very useful piece of magic. Inspired from the dark mark, it was a tiny little tattoo that was embedded with thousands upon thousands of tiny enchantments.

Once placed upon an individual, the enchantments worked their way into a person's mind. They seeped in, penetrating all layers of the mind until they reached the base of the subconscious. After that, it was a simple matter to simply twist the subconscious until the person would regard Harry himself as their master and god. There simply wasn't any possibility of disobedience, as any such thoughts would utterly fail to register in a person's mind. That wasn't all the spells did, of course, as to be this ham-handed simply wasn't Harry's style. The spells, over the course of time, would modify the person's personality to whatever Harry wanted it to be.

They would suppress some traits, enhance others, and cause specific reactions that would allow Harry to make the person in question into anything he wished them to be, while keeping it completely legitimate in the eyes of anyone around them.

One of the personas he'd created was Samuel Phoenix. Born in Bristol, 1974, Mr Phoenix was created as the scion of a fairly well off family. He was also the owner of a small shipping line that had been in the family for nearly thirty years.

The business had long since stagnated with Sam's father's death, and now it was just enough to keep them comfortable. Harry intended to use this persona to establish an endless source of legitimate wealth and power in the Muggle world.

To that end, he had incorporated the (allegedly) old company, and renamed it after the family. This way, Phoenix Inc. was born. It was a small, dead end business, with hardly any turnover. By the time Harry was done, he intended it to be a conglomerate that would be able to challenge any nation. For that, there was need for considerable capital.

Harry had no intention of using his vaults to supply that capital. In the Chamber, he had thought long and hard about potential sources of funds. The sheer number of possibilities with magic was endless, and he would make use of every possible method.

One thing Harry did was to set up a _huge_ number of bank accounts. Using the newly created identities, he moved city to city, setting up thousands of accounts all over the world. The vast majority were what he termed 'single use' accounts, which were all created from the worthless identities he had created. These would be used casually, to slowly funnel money into other, more legitimate accounts, until eventually it rested in completely clean ones.

Coming back to the source of the money, the first thing he did was to visit all the dictators of the world, and using the mark, ordered them to drain the sum total of their illegal wealth into his own (and every single one of them had such accounts, bar none). That done, he went about visiting drug dealers, illegal arms merchants, and other big time crooks, adding all their savings into his own. Once done, he split the resulting money (which went into nearly a trillion American dollars) equally between the Muggle and magical worlds.

The next was the use of his hacking skills to setup tiny diversions in online bank accounts. Once again, he placed the mark upon the heads of numerous banks, ordering them to ignore the diversions. The diversions themselves were completely undetectable, being routed, not from the contents of the accounts, but from the interest they collected. After all, people kept a close eye on the contents of their accounts, but hardly anyone bothered to calculate their interest with the changing rates.

What Harry did was to setup instructions in the computer's operations that would divert ten percent of the interest collected by each account into one different account, which wouldn't even appear on the bank's records except when it received the transfer. There were programs in place that would again erase the records the moment the transfer was done.

The wealth coming in this way was huge, and Harry set about using it. Instead of starting all the separate businesses himself, he bought already existing businesses, amalgamating them into Phoenix Inc.'s aegis. He went for the small, ailing businesses, buying them out and reducing them to mere subsidiaries under Phoenix Inc.

The first priority was, naturally, businesses that he had an urgent need of. That included a sweets company, a small real estate developing firm, several minor shipping companies, and so on. The biggest acquisition he made this was the Cray Corporation as his entry ticket into the Cyber Market.

As it turned out, Harry found Roger Seymour Cray to be a man fully aware of the magical world. He had to be, as he was a squib vassal of the Potter family. Harry had read the reports of the man saying that he gotten a lot of help from elves under his house. The general public had no idea just how honest the man was being when he said such things.

Roger Cray was a project started by Charlus Potter several decades ago. He had an idea, which was to make magical and Muggle technology work together using a very particular set of runes and potions. Others would have laughed at it, calling it impossible. After all, many had tried and failed.

Charlus Potter, on the other hand was interested. After all, he knew the power of the concept.

He set Cray up with what he believed a sufficiently advanced lab, and a five thousand Galleon monthly stipend.

But, however far-seeing and progressive he might have been compared to his contemporaries, Charlus Potter was still a pureblood wizard.

As a result, the lab in question was outdated by at least two decades.

For Cray it was like playing in the Quidditch World Cup on an old twig. However, understanding the kind of reception his idea would've normally gotten, he was euphoric. After that, he'd asked to be left in the Muggle world to his own devices, except for some help now and then, so that he may keep abreast of the latest developments, especially this new-fangled 'computer' thing that had become the talk of the town.

Charlus granted that, too. And the genius squib did it. After thirty years, he found a way to do what wizards had believed impossible for the last three hundred years. He'd had help, as Charlus had made available to him the best books and research money could buy, all taken to him via the Potter family house-elves. But the final credit still rested with the genius squib. He had made the world's first supercomputer. A computer created using purely Muggle technology, and augmented beyond belief by integrating magical methods. But by this time, Charlus, his beloved benefactor, was dead.

Not only that, but the enemies such a man always acquired after a lifetime of politics were now in power, and set to destroy anything that could be credited to him.

It was them that had, after having gotten some hint of the research Cray had been doing, had brought the Muggle protection act in being. The act itself was not much of a problem, but it meant that the misuse of Muggle artefacts office was in position, and presenting the device would mean immediate confiscation.

He'd lost even after winning.

However, that was then. Since then, Cray (who was a brilliant scholar but a hopeless businessman) had practically driven his company to bankruptcy, just in time to be saved by Phoenix Inc.

And that changed everything. The first thing Harry had done after placing his mark on the man was to present him with the latest blueprints of all the projects of his competitors. That done, he had given the man _carte blanche _to "do whatever he needed to do, spend whatever he needed to spend, but build Harry the best damn computer the world had seen or would see for the next decade".

After business, Harry had started on politics. Originally, he'd decided to simply choose a dictatorship, and then take it over from the shadows using the mark to test and polish his administrative skills, not to mention build a powerbase in the Muggle world. But once he'd collected the money, he'd thought about it.

After all, why should he limit himself to one? Why not, say, all of them?

He'd known just how much effort would need to be put into it, and just how careful he would have to be. But the eventual decision was, why not?

And so it led to him utilizing the marks that he'd placed on the dictators to order them to turn over the entirety of all relevant information they possessed to him. He took over the countries in all but name, deciding to do whatever he could to improve their conditions as much as he could.

To anyone watching, it would seem that the men in power had suddenly decided to become benevolent. He took over many countries this way, but the jewel to his collection, without any doubt at all, was Russia. Once a great superpower, the nation had all but collapsed.

Her problems were many, chief among them the pandemic level of corruption that was present at every level of administration. Russia had one of the richest deposits of natural resources in the whole world, but the benefits from them never reached the government, much less the populace.

What happened was that the well bribed officials responsible for the resources simply sold them to the mafia. They had to, as apart from the bribes, doing anything else would mean death after hours of brutal torture. The mafia sold them for billions in the international market. A part of what was earned thus went into fuelling the same cycle again, while the rest lined their pockets.

The end result was a dying economy, and a country standing on the brink of total anarchy.

And it was not limited to the Muggle world.

Magical Russia was once a great magical community, but it had never really healed from the ravages that had been visited upon her by the Dark Lord Rasputin. Grindelwald wooing away half her magical population into his armies hadn't helped, either.

The truth was that magical Russia today resembled pre-Arthurian England far more than it did any twentieth century country. There were several families, like the Cherinkskys, and the Alexandrovitchs, who ruled their own portions of the land with an iron fist.

This was something that would, one day, be very useful to him. This was because the house of Strassinov, one of the biggest players in that particular sandbox, was an age old vassal of the Sharrs. Not that Harry would use them so soon, as he had no intention of taking on the headache that always came with the noble vassals.

No, what he did just now was to take Boris Yelstin under his control. After that it was a simple enough matter to start with the changes that he _knew_ would return Russia to her superpower status.

The simplest decision to make was to use a bit of Legilimency and locate the heads of the various factions of the Russian mafia. The nation watched, horrified, as Russian state forces marched into the hideouts of the mafia bosses, dragging them away to the now reactivated cells below the Lubyanka.

Anyone even slightly familiar with the workings of the now defunct KGB was unsurprised when it was announced that they had died after signing over the entirety of their assets to the state, after signing full confessions naming and locating in full detail every person in their organizations.

This was followed by wave after wave of arrests and summary executions of every person involved in the theft and smuggling of the oil, gas and gold resources, among others. These actions gave the government enough capital to start work. And there was a lot to do. The first priority was the farming infrastructure, as Harry firmly believed that a country that couldn't feed her people couldn't do much else.

Not that there would be any particularly discernible results so soon. Resurrecting a country wasn't _that _easy, even with magic.

No, far more tangible results had been seen with the other dictator in the region that was in Harry's control.

Slobodan Milosevic was the president of Serbia, and the man responsible for the blood drenched war zone that was the former Yugoslavia. Harry had decided to intervene after taking the man under his control, and, as the first objective, had assassinated the leaders of the fledgling nations of Bosnia and Croatia. Serbian forces had moved in, and the nations were dissolved, once again forming Yugoslavia.

The brutal civil war that had ravaged the land was suddenly over, and the land was united again.

Of course, a nation formed this way would probably never have a life of more than a few weeks, so other measures had to be enacted. One thing he had done was to scrap the pro-Serb anti-everyone else regional policies. He didn't care how popular they were, how many of Milosevic's own people wanted them in effect. If they were what he termed 'divisive influences', they went. Any party member disagreeing meant a quick arrest and execution.

Another thing he had Milosevic do was to take proper control of the vast amount of money coming in the form of international aid, and use it was meant to be. Roads, houses, bridges were all built at a mind boggling pace.

The company contracted was, of course, Phoenix Inc. where Harry had acquired and merged over thirty infrastructure companies for this exact purpose.

Of course, foreign charity was hardly ever enough to restore a destroyed land. One thing the Yugoslavian government did was to apply for, and secure, massive loans from banks all over the world. The fact that the current heads of all of the banks involved were currently Harry's finger puppets was obviously just a happy coincidence. As was the fact that the loans were all roughly on a timescale that would put the major repayments all at the turn of the century, when, as the government defaulted, the banks would obligingly collapse, leaving the way open for the banking branch of Phoenix that Harry had ensured would be in place to mount a smooth takeover.

And now, we come back to the Magical world, because if the author were to detail just the sheer number of things that are involved in taking over dictatorships and turning them into places able to support long term plans, both him and the reader would be stuck to the computer screen for years.

It had been a week and a half since he'd met with Talbot and started work on the company, and it was just finishing now. Both his name and his wealth had helped considerably in shortening the time, but this was more or less the minimum duration.

Harry had ordered the man to setup several new branches for the company, and had already filed for numerous new patents that they would be using. Another thing was that he'd started production on his estates. It had taken some time, but the whole thing had been helped along vastly by the fact that Harry had used the confectionery company he'd bought as Samuel Phoenix to start the production of a huge batch of Inception Lozenges.

It had been a small matter to program sweets carrying the knowledge of advanced Mathematics, English, Science, and the Hogwarts years one to seven.

It didn't solve all his problems. Hell, it didn't solve half of them, as there was much more work to do, but it was a major step forward.

Another good thing was that his factories were all online now, and the printing presses owned by the Althric Chroniclers had just finished the first catalogue for Althric Artificers.

The first item Harry had decided upon was the television. And even if he did so himself, it was a work of art. Having decided to ignore the chunky unattractive Muggle models, he'd gone straight for flat screen. It basically consisted of a series of runes inscribed on the back of a mirror. What the runes did was to turn the mirror into a scrying mirror. Then, they were connected to another set of runes, placed on the camera.

What this did was to limit the scope of the TV. Instead of picking up images from anywhere, like actual scrying, the mirrors could only receive what the camera runes transmitted.

This, in conjunction to the Peverell Broadcasting Service (yet another Althric Subsidiary) would make it very easy for Harry to take advantage of the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, not to mention the Triwizard Tournament. Another thing was that Harry was surprised by just how many details of ancient magical history had reached the Muggles in the form of fantasy books or cinema, something he had every intention to take advantage of.

He had, under various pretexts, hired numerous scriptwriters to make serials out of films and books such as Conan the Barbarian, Wrath of the Titans, and the Lord of the Rings.

There were plays and songs about such stories in the magical world, but they were rather few and lacking in his eyes. And after all, it wasn't as if all this was costing him any money of his own.

Harry had plans to launch, over the course of the year, Cell Phones (created out of a lot of tinkering with multi way mirrors), Computers (tiny magical nexus), and calculators (as a substitute to the currently used calculating parchment).

Another thing he would launch immediately was a paper production and supply company.

While paper was one of the cheapest and most commonly used items in the Muggle world, it was rather expensive in the magical world, mainly as it had to be hand produced. This was compounded by the fact that they couldn't just buy Muggle paper, as being machine produced, it refused to let any enchantments take hold.

However, a purely magically automated way to produce paper circumvented this problem, and would allow Harry to sell paper at half the market price. Moreover, the same thing applied to pens and Muggle clothes. With all of these measures put in motion, and Harry was looking at a complete rejuvenation of the magical world in a few years.

Not that it would be a moment too soon. Because the fact of the matter was that as things currently were, magical Britain was dying. There were roughly three hundred and fifty thousand witches and wizards in Britain, and near about five to six times that in the rest of Europe.

And that wasn't even the worst part. The fact was that the witches and wizards that _were_ there were hardly worth the name. There had been a time when British wizards and witches had been able to divert floods, cause and end earthquakes, create volcanoes, part seas, all of it on a whim.

Compared to now…

Well, the less said the better.

The painful fact was that all of this was reversible. Currently, Albus Dumbledore held the future of magical Britain in his hands. Were he to wish so, he could order the reestablishment of the classes that had been steadily ended in the last three centuries. He could bring Hogwarts, and by extension Britain, to her former glory.

But he was hardly going to do so, especially when he'd personally abolished half the subjects.

Still, there was hope, as Harry was Lord of two of the founder Houses. He could, should he choose, remove the headmaster. He wouldn't do so already, as being recognised as a legitimate enemy by Dumbledore so soon was rather unadvisable, but one day the time would come.

For now, Harry had decided to make another visit to the ministry. One thing he had to do in the Department of Magical Finance was to allocate the shares for Althric Inc., but he had other plans there too.

**A.N**:

Um... People, I've recently had reason to believe that my chapters a bit too bland. So, could you just put in a little review/PM to confirm or deny this? And, if you confirm it, could you suggest something? Pretty please with a cherry on the top?

Apart from that, please review/PM me for any clarifications, criticisms and suggestions that you think could improve this story.

Next chapter should be up in a week.

Signing off,

blackshadow111


	8. Chapter 8

Apparating to the Ministry Atrium, Harry made his way to the Department of Magical Finance, going straight through the doors till he reached the office of the Registrar, New Businesses.

In the past few days, Harry had visited this office often, to rush through the paperwork for the formation of Althric. He really did hope that this would be the last.

Speaking of which… he spotted Talbot waving him over to one of the cubicles.

Going over, Harry shook hand with the solicitor and the official whose cubicle it was, who Harry knew to be Raphael Urquhart, the younger brother of Sir Telemakus Urquhart, and the uncle of the Slytherin a year above Harry. Wondering if the man had been paid yet, Harry glanced at Talbot.

Meeting his eyes, the man gave a tiny nod.

Good. This would be simple then.

Sure enough, the man turned his attention to Harry, not even glancing at the file he was supposed to read through properly to ensure that they weren't trying to cheat the Ministry.

Taking out his quill, he asked "So, Lord Wilmington, who are the lucky people that are going to own this thing?"

This was another break from regulations. According to Ministry rules, all of the owners should have been present in this meeting. Indeed, it had cost nearly five thousand galleons to get this particular concession.

"Make it twenty percent apiece for the Potter, Slytherin and Gryffindor estates; and ten percent each for Sharr, Peverell and Black." Harry answered.

This would allow Harry to maintain control of the company in his own name, while the pureblood names meant that any official would think twice before going against the company. Not to mention that it would allow Harry to make unhindered use of the patents held by the families which he hadn't claimed publicly. Out of the remaining ten percent, the ministry owned four percent by law, while six percent would be going at the open market.

If Urquhart found anything strange, he didn't mention it. Soon, he put the names on the official records, stamped them, and that was it.

Another thing that Harry intended to secure sooner or later on this front was an executive order classifying the records of Althric Inc. as Above Top Secret. There wasn't a shred of proof of any wrongdoing in them, but it was just common sense.

His work here done, he left the Department, entering the lift and pressing the button to level one.

Thankfully, no one stopped the lift in between, and within minutes he was striding down the corridor.

**Office of the Minister for Magic Two minutes later**

"Minister Fudge!" called a voice from outside the office. "You have a visitor outside."

"I'm very busy right now, can't it wait?" asked Fudge.

"It's Harry Potter, Minister," said Fudge's aide from outside of the office and Fudge brightened up immediately at this news.

"Send him in immediately," said Fudge in a bright tone of voice, knowing it would be good publicity for it to be known that he was talking to the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry Potter was the Darling of the Magical world, and Fudge wanted to capitalize on the positive publicity. He was up for another term within the year and this would give him a nudge in the right direction.

The door opened and Harry walked in, moving towards the Minister.

Fudge practically leapt from his chair towards the young man. Grabbing his hand, he shook it vigorously while ushering the boy to a comfortable looking chair. "Ah, Harry good to see you." He said as he settled down into his chair. "Tell me, have you been well? It's been too long since I've seen you, ever since that awful mess with Black""I have Minister, I apologize for taking up a few minutes of your time but there are some things that I want to talk about," Harry said, fixing his face into a mask of a naïve fourteen year old.

"Of course, of course, you're welcome anytime Harry!

So, what brings you to the Ministry of Magic?"

"Minister, I just recently come into the knowledge that I have certain responsibilities as the head of three Noble families," answered Harry. "It came as a shock, what with me having been raised in a Muggle home…"

That sent the Minister's mind reeling. Idiot though he was, Fudge was nothing if not a consummate politician. The Lord of three families, and at fourteen! The most influential teenager in the country had come to him, Fudge, for help; not Malfoy or Dumbledore. Opportunities like this almost never came.

"Yes, yes, that was rather unfortunate." Fudge said in an imitation of a sympathetic voice so pathetic that Harry barely suppressed the urge to laugh. "Not that it was something that I had anything to do with, but I wish there had been an alternative. But as I know it, what with Black being thrown in Azkaban, there sadly was not." He paused a moment for effect.

"Anyway, back to why you are here, Harry."

"Well as I mentioned," the boy replied earnestly. "I found out that being the last surviving member of three Noble families, I was the Lord, so I do have certain responsibilities. The problem is that I know so little about the Ministry, people might take advantage of me."

Interjecting his speech with well-crafted pauses, Harry continued sounding, just like Tom before him, as an eager, innocent schoolboy. "But, Minister, I feel I can trust you. You seem to be a nice person. You did help me get out of trouble after that accident before my third year."

And just as Tom Riddle's teachers were taken by his earnest attitude, the Minister of Magic fell for Harry's act. Fudge nodded, barely suppressing a slight smirk. He had a feeling then that helping Harry was going to pay off and he was proven right. If he could give the boy some guidance, it would mean a very powerful and influential associate.

The things he could do with the power of three families backing him…

"What exactly do you want, Harry?" asked Fudge

"Well, I wanted to ask if I could have some time to learn my way around the Ministry, to see how everything works, learn who and what I'm going to be dealing with, things like that "Harry said in an uncertain tone of voice that would have made Salazar proud.

"I'm certain that could be easily arranged," Fudge said with a kind smile.

"Once arrangements are made, I'll contact you discreetly, I suspect that you don't want certain people to know of this considering they might try to stop you."

"That would not be good, Minister," agreed Harry, somewhat astonished at how accurately he had predicted Fudge's actions. "You just don't know who you can trust anymore…"

"Right Harry, but you know you can trust me," Fudge said.

"I know I can Minister, your reign as Minister of Magic has been nothing but good, "Harry said. "You've done such a good job. I think the Ministry would fall into a wreck without you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Harry," Fudge said, with complete sincerity.

Hm… it did seem that the few talents Fudge had didn't lend themselves to sarcasm.

The last line had been a deliberate test from Harry, aimed to see just how much flattery he could get away with. Thankfully, it seemed that the old formula would work well enough. Flatter till you think you're doing it too much, and then double it.

It was far too soon for any exchange of money, of course. That would come later.

Harry left just as soon as he'd come, his destination this time being the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

He reached in a few minutes time. Going straight into Bagman's office, he stopped at the secretary's desk. Doing a tiny scan on her mind to learn her name, he said "Hello, Melissa. Could you please tell Mr Bagman that Harry Potter is here to see him?"

During the last several days, Harry had spent a long time thinking just how to go about asking for broadcasting rights for Quidditch from a government that didn't _have_ a concept of broadcasting. He'd eventually decided upon simply explaining the situation along with a nice bribe. The problem had been that only the Director for Magical Games and Sports or the Minister had the power to issue the authority for 'unprecedented' activities, and Harry had wanted to avoid going to them before he had time to consolidate his power in the Ministry.

Still, if it had to be done then it had to be done.

Coming back to the present, Harry observed the girl try to hide the surprise at him knowing her name. Failing miserably, she said in the end "Y-Yes of course, Mister- I mean Lord Wilmington" she amended, glancing at his ring.

Harry watched her leave. He had to admit, as he gazed at her rather firm and shapely behind. The girl _was_ rather attractive, with sun-kissed blonde hair, large expressive hazel eyes, and all the curves in the right places. He heard her tell the man about him, and the Bagman's assent. Returning, she said "The Director will see you, Lord Wilmington."

Going in, Harry saw Ludo Bagman sitting behind his desk. He had the look of a well-built man who had become accustomed to a life of comfort. The robes of his office were stretched tight across a belly he'd surely gotten after the current job. With his Rosy complexion and blue eyes, Harry thought he was looking at an overgrown schoolboy.

Rising to shake his hand, the man said "Well, nice seeing you at the Ministry, Harry. So, what can I do for you?"

Explaining about the broadcast system, Harry finished "So, I need the Ministry's official permission to display the Final all over England. I am, of course, willing to pay any fees within reason."

To say that Bagman was interested would be an understatement. He'd heard about something like this from a few squibs he'd been in contact with, but the sheer scale of what Harry was proposing amazed him.

"And you say you can get this done in time to show the finals?" he asked.

"Well, yes, I can. But only with the support of the Ministry."

Harry supplemented his words with a minor compulsion. That and a large sack containing a thousand shiny Galleons later, he was looking at a letter of authority duly signed and carrying the seal of the Director.

"Well then Harry, there you have it. Is there anything else I can do for you?" Bagman asked.

"Yes, I need a few tickets to the finals."

"Say no more, Harry. I'm going to get you the best seats there are, the top box itself. Where the Minister and the other top people sit, you know?" said the former Beater.

"I didn't expect anything less from a man as capable as you, Director. Meanwhile, I'm organizing a public telecast of the semi-finals Tomorrow night at Diagon Alley. You know, for promotion of the idea. You're invited, of course"

"That's a very good idea, Harry. I'll be there." Bagman replied.

"Well, then, see you, Director." Harry said as he rose to leave.

Soon, he was back at level one, this time going to the Office of the Wizengamot Administrative Service.

Going in, he walked up to the front desk.

"Name?" the clerk on duty asked, without looking up from his newspaper.

"Harry Potter"

That got his attention.

Looking up, his eyes flickered to the scar, before he asked "Purpose of the visit?"

"Here to claim my seats on the Wizengamot."

"You are, of course, aware that it will require proof?" the clerk asked.

"Will this suffice? Harry asked sarcastically, flashing the Potter ring.

"Of course, Lord Wilmington. Right this way." The man said, clearly embarrassed, showing Harry to a room.

Entering it, Harry saw that it was a ritual room of some sort.

"Well, get on with it. Tell me, what do I have to do?" Harry asked.

"You state your full name with the titles, and state your claim. The magic of the room confirms whether you are who you say you are. If yes, you're confirmed and can simply sign the swearing in documents and turn up to the next meeting to vote. If not, then it's a one way trip to the death chamber in the Department of Mysteries."

"Oh, all right. Here goes." Harry said, taking a deep breath.

"I am Hadrian James Potter. I am The Thirty-Fifth Earl of Wilmington, the Five thousand Six hundred and ninety third Lord of the Bloodline of the Vessel Makers, and the Forty-sixth Warden of the Northern Islands. I ask that I am recognized as the rightful voter for the house of Potter, with all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities entailed."

He soon felt what he recognized as the power of the room examining him. It was drawn to the ring, and through the connection through it. Within a few moments, it withdrew, apparently satisfied. Looking down, Harry saw that the crest of the house of Potter had appeared on the left breast of his robes.

"Well, that's done then. Come with me, Lord Wilmington, there are a few papers you need to sign." The clerk said, motioning towards the door.

"Wait, I'm not done yet. Harry said.

Taking another deep breath, he continued "I am also the Twenty-eighth Duke of Gryphonsworth, the Thirty-fourth Duke of Parsellsia, the Six thousand nine hundred and fourth Lord of the Bloodline of the Lion tamers, the Six thousand seven hundred and twenty-sixth Lord of the bloodline of the Serpent Masters, the Thirty-second Warden of the Eastern Plains, and the Thirty-first Warden of the Southern Mountains. I ask to be recognized as the rightful voter for the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Again, the magic delved into him through the ring, scanning and evaluating his link to the two houses. Again, it withdrew in a few moments, apparently satisfied. This time, he felt it as the crests of the families faded into being at the front of his robes.

Looking around, he saw the clerk gaping at him. Harry suppressed a sigh. He supposed it was unavoidable, as he'd essentially just become a voting faction by himself.

To understand this, one would have to be extremely familiar with magical history.

When the families of Britain united to form the Wizengamot, the first consideration was; who was to get how many seats?

Some said that regardless of involvement, every family deserved one seat, no more, no less.

Of course, that was the first proposal to be shot down. But the question remained. The Ancient and Noble houses, along with the Eldritch Houses, wanted veto powers over all laws and matters of judiciary. The lesser houses were, of course, terrified of them having such rights.

Eventually, a compromise was reached. The Wizengamot would be three hundred strong. Two hundred of the seats would be inherited by the families, while a hundred would be for the Warlocks of the round table (which was the proper term for magical knights). As there were only eleven Warlock sat the time, they would have the right to decided how the rest would be appointed.

Meanwhile, within the Wizengamot, the Ancient and Noble Houses would get six votes apiece, while the Eldritch Houses would get nine. The lesser houses would have a vote apiece.

Of course, the votes of any vassal families would be for the Lord to command. Apart from this, it was decided that the Ancient and Noble Houses, along with the Eldritch Houses, would form an inner council, a pseudo Wizengamot within the Wizengamot.

This council would have the power to ratify or veto any law by virtue of a simple majority, as long as it didn't change the constitution. Even that could be done, but for that, a unanimous vote would be required. As there were fifteen families, it was named simply the council of fifteen.

What Harry had just done was to take twenty-four votes out of three hundred under his command, not to mention what would come with his vassals. Then there were the three votes he had on the council of fifteen.

From a clueless boy as he'd been just a couple months ago, he'd become a major mover and shaker in the magical world.

He would be visiting this office again under his other identities later that day, by which time he expected this news to be spread throughout the whole of the Ministry.

Just as he wanted it to

His next stop was the Prophet Offices in Goldia Alley. Going to the advertising section, he paid for a full front page advertisement for the dual events of the public telecast, and the grand opening of the Althric Artificers' Diagon Alley showroom. This took him half an hour, after which he was standing in the atrium of 15, Goldia Alley, the new Headquarters of Althric Inc., looking at the newly redecorated building.

Seeing the sheer number of unoccupied offices, Harry suppressed the urge to sigh.

One problem that Harry had been unable to solve quickly enough for his taste was that of manpower. He had vassals, golems and, if all else failed, simply magic to maintain and harvest his resources. He could secure contracts for supply on his own, and then use specially trained house elves to fulfil them. What he couldn't do fast enough was to hire the people needed for the day to day running of the company. That was something he would have to do the old fashioned way of interviewing and selecting recruits, or poaching them from others.

That, by itself, wouldn't even have been a problem. The problem was the oaths that Harry needed his employees to swear. They weren't oaths of vassalage or anything like that, but the consequences they laid down for anyone releasing information were positively draconian. Harry knew and understood this, but it was a necessary evil as he had no intention of being encumbered by the betrayals that always accompanied the more humane measures.

Not for the first time, Harry wished he could simply use the mark to make people loyal to him. It would be so simple, just stun someone, and mark them in secret. Then spread this same again and again, until the numbers are high enough to get all the people he needed. But the problem was that it would never work.

Despite what Dumbledore and his ilk spouted, there was a lot of difference between wizards and Muggles. Without even knowing it, wizards were immune to a great amount of the dangers plaguing the average Muggle.

To understand this, one needed a thorough grasp of magical biology. What happened was that first of all, every person in the world had a magical core. This included even the animals. Just like everyone had a soul, and a body.

What made the difference between a magical and a Muggle was the presence or absence of connections between the three elements. A person whose soul and body was connected to their magical core was magical, others were not. This was so, as when the three things were connected, the magic was free to channel itself across the whole being of the person. Its touch to the soul was what gave it the power to produce more magic and its connection to the body was vital for the creation of the channels through which it flowed.

A Muggle was born with a core, but that core could neither grow nor be used.

Coming back to the topic of immunity, this meant that when magic coursed through a person's body, it sought to protect the body, and by extension, itself. And a person's magic was never greater than in their own body.

For example, if a Muggle were to inhale powdered glass, it would mean a very painful and bloody death. A magical wouldn't even notice it, provided they were strong enough. Their magic would simply vanish away the glass.

This actually applied along the lines of the states of matter. Solids were what taxed magic most heavily, followed by liquids and then gases. That was why, while bullets and bombs were usually just as damaging to them as they were on Muggles, Muggle poisons failed to work on wizards, as did their diseases. For a mage, phosgene and mustard gas were just unpleasant smells. The most important thing was that this protection also lent itself to the mind.

While the Imperius curse was one of the most difficult spells to cast on wizards, it could be maintained with very little effort on a Muggle. The same went for Obliviations and the mark.

A person's magic would fight endlessly against the enchantments, were Harry to try it on a magical. That was not to say that it couldn't be done. It could, just like the Imperius and Obliviation spells, be used. But it required one to bend not just the wizards' minds, but also their magic to his/her will. To do so by brute force meant guaranteed insanity for the target, so the process had to be slow, moving just deep enough at just the right time.

This was why the Dark Mark could never be taken while under the Imperius, or any other form of mind control. A person had to be willing and able to do it.

Speaking of Dark Marks, Harry went back into the alley, before Apparating. He had something he needed to do.

**The same time Hogwarts**

Severus Snape was angry. Dumbledore had just summoned him to his office, saying something about the Potter brat. Stopping in front of the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster's chambers, he barked the password at the statue, swept up the stairs, and banged open the door. "Well, what do you want?" He snarled out.

"I do wish, my boy, that you would learn better manners." Dumbledore replied sedately, the infernal twinkling of his eye at full blast. "Anyway, I have called you here to tell you that Harry is not at his relatives'."

Snape's face twisted into his customary sneer "What, you mean that the brat ran away again?"

"No, I mean that he never made it there. He disappeared from the platform nine and three quarters."

"So what? You want me to go and look for him?" Snape asked. "Because if you are, then you have another-"

"No. while I kept this quiet for the last month and half, I've been making discreet inquiries. Imagine my surprise when I found out that a week and a half ago, he sat for his OWLs and NEWTs for the majority of his subjects." Dumbledore said, cutting him off.

Snape couldn't believe his ears. He'd always known that the boy was a pampered little pathetic moron, but could even the son of James Potter be _this_ stupid? "Well, I assume he failed miserably?"

"Actually, he has obtained an Outstanding in every exam he sat for. But that is not the point. The interesting thing is that the candidate sitting for the exams was not 'Mr Potter', but rather, 'Lord Wilmington'."

The blood drained from Snape's face. Now, he was a veteran Death Eater. He had brewed the potions that had caused, directly or indirectly, thousands of deaths in the last war. He had also enjoyed attacking civilians' families while they went about their daily routines, while wearing a white mask. Upon hearing that the object of his wet dreams since he was a boy of twelve was in danger, he'd tried to save her by becoming (in his opinion), a self-sacrificing hero, while attempting to arrange for his way to her to be cleared at the same time.

But whatever else he may have pretended to be, his defining trait in life was that he was a coward, born and bred. To hear that the helpless Muggle-bred lad he'd enjoyed humiliating was now the Lord of an Ancient and Noble family was to him like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.

"But you said that could never happen" he whined to Dumbledore.

"And that is why you are here, my boy. I need you to visit your friend Lucius and ask him about any way this could have happened. I have tried finding out myself, but unfortunately I don't know that many Lords of Ancient and Noble families."

"What about all those portraits?" Snape asked, gesturing around the room.

"None of them are Potters, I'm afraid. I removed all the Potter headmasters as I feared one of them could try to contact him. And as you know, there are differences in every family's succession rules. While I doubt Mr Malfoy knows the Potter Family Charter, he can make a far better effort to find out than me." The Headmaster answered.

He wasn't lying, as Dumbledore researching succession rules for the Ancient and Noble families would be translated by the traditionalists as preparation for yet another law abolishing the Lordships.

"Very well," Snape said, regaining his composure. "I'll go tomorrow."

When one set about destroying an enemy's powerbase, the surest way to do it was to take it for themselves. Harry had thought on this long and hard in the chamber.

Voldemort, while quite certifiably insane, had not been completely stupid. At least, not at the time before he created his Horcruxes. The Dark Mark was a piece of magic he had worked at for a long time, and it was his masterpiece. Based on an ancient roman slave brand, the mark incorporated hundreds of separate spells, all binding the bearer to Voldemort in their own ways.

The simplest were the pain spells. The spells would cause the bearer a pain like they were burning whenever they thought about disobeying Voldemort (or whenever Voldemort felt like it).

Apart from that, there were spells that would allow the bearer to be guided to Voldemort whenever he called them. Others that would provide instant and secure communication, the list went on.

One of the most important sets was the one of the concealment spells. It was also the only set that could be controlled by the bearer. Upon activation, the spells made the Dark Mark completely invisible. And it wasn't just from sight. No magic could sense it, and no wards could detect it with those spells active. Unless, of course, you knew the exact spells used and the innermost details of the layout of the spell matrix.

Harry had spent several hours in the chamber working out a spell to remove the Dark Mark. He had to, as he couldn't just take it over, not with the control runes and spells being embedded inside Voldemort's very soul. It had taken considerable experimentation, requiring him to cast and unravel everything again and again, but he had done it.

The tricky part was to use it. Thing was, he couldn't simply go around to the various escaped Death Eaters, telling them "I'm Voldemort, and I've just come back, but I don't want to restart what we were doing, and by the way, I'm removing your Dark Marks … Y'know, the ones I said could never be removed and would be the greatest part of your service to me?"

They weren't that stupid (or if they were, then did he really want them?).

No, it would have to wait, unfortunately. What he was going to do right now, was to use the other things he'd crafted in regards to the Dark Mark. Throughout the last war, the Department of Mysteries had tried to penetrate the concealment spells on the mark, trying to make detectors for it and design wards capable of stopping anyone bearing it. They'd failed, in part due to the sabotage Rookwood had done, and mainly because Tom was just that brilliant. But what they hadn't had, but Harry did, was in depth knowledge of the mark, the exact spells used, how they meshed with each other, the lot.

In one of the factories Harry had started on the Sharr estate, wardstones went in from one end, completely blank, and they left the other end carrying an extremely specific warding scheme, designed to repel anything and everyone bearing a Dark Mark. It extended, of course, to Voldemort himself, but that was rather easier. Along with the Dark Mark repelling wards, there was an array of other articles, but these were the primary target.

As soon as Harry deemed his warding knowledge to be appropriate, he would be visiting every single building he owned, getting these wards in place.

Of course, speaking of factories, Harry's latest efforts in his endeavours had been towards a topic that was a major concern.

Namely, self-sufficiency

Just about everything Harry currently owned was dependant on his own micro-management of every single thing. Now, the day to day business and political issues would have to remain that way until he got some subordinates he could trust and rely on (something that was thankfully underway with the education levels of his vassals rising), but the other things could be changed.

He decided that instead of having isolated puppets in the Muggle world, it would be better to unite them, so that each may help the others. It was an idea that came from what Grindelwald had done in Germany when he was acting as Heinrich Himmler, and he decided to name the organization in honour of him.

So Harry's cabal of top dictators, thinkers, police officials and businessmen got a name.

It would be the Serpent Sworn, shortened to the SS.

It wasn't as simple as changing the name, of course. Thankfully, he had included spells in the mark that could change other parts of the enchantments. It was time to use them. The first thing he did was to restructure the control runes.

Earlier, they had been connected to him, enabling him to control them directly. What he did now was create a secondary chain of control, which would lead back to him again, although with a difference. This would allow him to retake control in any emergency, while the marks would operate through a layer of intermediaries that would continue working, even if he couldn't pay full attention to them. For this, he enchanted numerous stone tablets with the appropriate runes to both receive and transmit instructions. Then, he visited every place where he had any major marked servants, and bought pieces of land, using copious amounts of conjured money.

That done, he put both the buildings and the tablets under every protection he could think of, and buried the tablets under the properties, after linking them to the marks. The next step was to tie the controls of the tablets, straight to the central keystone buried under Casa De Sharr, which was connected to the family magic, with them in turn connected to his ring.

Getting an idea, he created yet another set of secondary controls, this time at the level after the Sharr keystone, and created a magical nexus to watch over them, which would answer to Slytherin's portrait.

This would allow Salazar to watch over the day to day workings of the organization, and allow Harry to at least partially solve the problem of his lack of trustworthy associates.

The greatest thing was that it would allow Harry to start more operations. Going back to Russia and Yugoslavia (which was finally truly complete, with the dissolution of Macedonia and Slovenia), he found several weapons dealers, and went to work with them.

What he did can best be explained with the example of Vladimir Bout.

Bout needed no introduction to anyone in the Western or Eastern Block Intelligence service. He was notorious as a former KGB major, who had later, using the limitless weapons pool of the old USSR, become one of the biggest black market arms dealers in the world.

Harry had earlier visited them to get the man's wealth, which was in the hundreds of millions. This time, he was interested in something else.

With a few spell and adjustments in the mark, he was done. Bout would now prepare, once every month, a consignment of his very best guns, rocket and grenade launchers, RPGs, mines, etched would then place it in one of his numerous warehouses, and then forget all about it.

This, after he did it to a full dozen dealers, would allow Harry to setup a continuous supply of top notch Muggle weapons. With Cray's knowledge on making magic and technology work together floating in his head, he already had golems working on a factory that would augment these weapons with magic so far beyond what anyone considered capable that it wasn't even funny.

Another priority was to acquire not just weapons, but weapon plans that would allow him to set up his own factories. Being as things were, all it took was a visit to a few government labs, and he already had started work on the nexus that he would need.

Naturally, with weapons secured, the next objective was the ability to use them. Harry made yet another trip around the globe, assimilating memories from the trained soldiers of every government. He visited the best soldiers of the best Special Forces units in the world and copied, analysed and assimilated all their years of training and experience.

It didn't make Harry an immediate expert, but it gave him somewhere to begin.

Apart from them, Harry also visited the world's best martial arts specialists, creating for himself a style that would have the strengths of every form he could get his hands on, with the weaknesses of none.

Once again, it would take years of training (months with magic) before he was ready to use them at their full power, but it was an excellent start.

Coming back to the matter of self-sufficiency, Harry went back and retrieved the fully functioning simulacrums of both Samuel Phoenix and Jason Andrews (the identity he had used when creating the Serpent Sworn), that he'd started the creation of the moment he'd chosen the identities. These he tied to the portraits of Charlus Potter and Orion Black respectively.

When he said 'simulacrum', he did not mean statues of snow animated by magic, but in fact fully functioning human bodies with the correct organs, nerves, and mannerisms of a regular human. The only thing they lacked was a magical core, as the ingredients needed for that were too expensive and rare for even Harry to use casually.

The growth chambers for such bodies were among the first factories he created, and the plans for it dated back to nearly three hundred and fifty thousand years ago, when the Sharrs had rediscovered cloning technology from the pre-Atlantean era.

Still, that wasn't all he did, the bank accounts were always secure, but something new he did was to put in the computers of every bank where he had an illegal account, a program that he called the scrambler. Once inserted, it would lay quiet in the computer, doing little more than spreading quietly throughout the system.

In a computer in the study of Potter Manor, there resided a list of bank account numbers, along with one of some specific codes, and some specific e-mail addresses. Whenever a transaction would occur in one of the accounts on the list, the computer would send the appropriate code to the appropriate bank via e-mail. As soon as it was received, the program would come alive.

The first thing it did was to delete without any trace, all details of the e-mail. Then, it identified the accounts, and started its work. Sometimes it outright deleted all records of the transaction, so that the money was simply there without any records of it arriving. This was only done for the accounts where the time for which the money resided could be measured in minutes. For these, the money moving out counted as another transaction, prompting a fresh code, and a fresh activation of the program, and this time it deleted any record of the money ever being there at all. For others, it simply doctored the records to show anything but the truth.

Another purpose the scrambler served was to keep an eye on anyone snooping about the account. For example, if an employee of the bank went any deeper into the account details than the front page, it would identify the terminal, and if an ID was used, then retrieve the records from the archives, before forwarding them to yet another e-mail address. If there were any, it hacked into the CCTV, taking the face of the employee, before sending it too, on the address.

All these were necessary precautions, should he become indisposed. After all, the flow of money, or the establishment of his influence, couldn't be allowed to stop.

The next weeks passed busily for Harry. The inauguration of the showroom went fantastically, Harry having invited Lord Axtros Montague(the chief of the Diagon Alley traders' guild) to cut the ribbon. As did the public launch of the PBS, there were already reports of the TVs flying off the shelves, as everyone who'd been unable to afford a ticket but still wanted to see the match wanted one.

There was so much to do, and so little time, that before he knew it, it was the day of the final and he was browsing through the storage vault below Gryffindor Palace, trying to choose which tent he should use. Knowing that the arrangement was in a Muggle field, he had decided to be at least somewhat discreet, so the seven storied golden coloured, floating tent was rejected, as was the one with a full pride of animated Griffins flying around it.

Eventually Harry came across a plain dark green tinted tent, which contained manor inside, complete with its own house elves. Ordering Caspar, the head of the Gryffindor house elves, to prepare it for use, Harry came back out of the vault, into his study.

There, he started going through the mail. One was from Ali Bashir, confirming their appointment set three days from then. Just in time, he thought as he read the next letter, this one the goblins, confirming that he now owned all outstanding debts owed by ministry officials a certain rank and above. Why it was just in time was because one of the officials, owing Harry to the tune of seven thousand galleons, was Charles Jenkins, the Chief registrar for Proscribed Charmable Objects. With that man under Harry's control, that left two people in Britain that could go against Althric Artificers. One was Arthur Weasley, and the other Bertrand Perkins, both members of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office.

Well, they would be dealt with soon enough.

Meanwhile, this, if exploited correctly, could ensure that Harry had his 'in' into the middle-eastern dictatorships. He'd left them alone earlier, mainly as they came under the aegis of the Persian Magical Empire, which was rather watchful of its Muggle counterparts. After all, Ali Bashir was not just a businessman who wanted to export carpets to Britain. He was also the nephew of Salim Bashir, the Prime Minister of the Empire of Magical Persia.

The final letter was from Terrence Willwood, acknowledging that he'd received the schematics of the final camera arrangements Harry had sent to him. Terrence was something of an enigma to Harry. One of the few well educated vassals of the Slytherins he'd been a photographer for The Prophet before Harry had drafted him into being the camera coordinator to cover the match for the Peverell Broadcasting Service. Harry made sure to plant the memories of the world's best professionals in his mind, and had supplemented that with weeks of training by liberal use of a time turner. By now, Terrance was an extremely familiar with what he needed to do.

They had scouted out the stadium several times, deciding the best places to arrange the cameras. They would be floating at the specified positions with respect to the teams, moving with the match.

During the match, he would be sitting in front of several screens, deciding which screen to broadcast at which time.

His mail done, Harry turned towards a blank stretch of the wall, removing the glamour charms to reveal six shrunken master frames. Activating the Sharr one and calling forth Darius, he opened a drawer and pulled out a magical globe.

"So, I thought we could go over the locations of the caches one last time." He said to Grindelwald.

He was talking about the numerous emergency supply depots that Grindelwald's SS had built all over conquered Europe in the Second World War.

Grindelwald, in his guise as Himmler, has been one of the first in Germany to work out that the war was lost. He had started preparing to save as many of Germany's best and brightest as he could all the way back in 1941, along with laying down the foundations for the Fourth Reich.

There were many operations that he had arranged for this purpose, but one of the most important had been the preservation of as much wealth and knowledge as possible. This had been done in many ways. One was the obvious method of stashing away hundreds of millions of both dollars and galleons in foreign bank accounts. There were over a hundred numbered accounts in Gringotts branches all over the world, holding over three hundred million galleons in liquid wealth, not to mention artefacts and knowledge worth much more. The Sharr accounts alone had over a hundred million credited to them. The same was the condition for the Muggle accounts scattered over Switzerland, Lichtenstein, the Caymans, and the Channel Islands.

That wasn't even the bulk of the money, as that lay in ultra-secret depots in the form of tons of gold, priceless artworks, jewels, and other treasures, taken from the bodies and homes of Jews before they were carted off to the concentration camps.

Harry had extracted the location of these depots from Darius, and he now needed to visit them and key the wards to himself, not to mention start liquidating the art and the jewels.

There weren't any weapon caches, as the weapons were the one thing that had been in extreme demand during the war.

Once the world cup was over, Harry would visit the caches, and move the wealth to either his own numerous properties on the continent, or to the Gringotts vaults. He's already made arrangements to sell the artwork through the Phoenix Auctioneers (which he had opened a week ago but the world believed to be half a decade old).

It took Harry and Darius nearly two hours to make sure that they had the exact location of every one of the caches clear in their minds, and then it was time to go to the campsite.

**Seven hours later**

Harry thought about who he could expect to see in the top box, as he climbed the stairs. Out of the forty seats, eighteen were reserved for the ministry, from what he believed. Fudge and Bagman were a certainty, as were their counterparts from Ireland and Bulgaria. Apart from that, there would be their guests, other powerful ministry officials, and the ones that would have managed to buy the few tickets available for sale.

Harry wondered yet again whether or not he should be at the relay station. After all, this was a major time for Althric, and he should be there. But he dismissed it. He'd left Darius in control of the magic, and he did need to make a few Bulgarian connections. There would hardly be a better opportunity.

Reaching the top, Harry saw that the box was empty, except for a house elf sitting in the corner with an empty seat next to it. Except…. _Was_ it?

He didn't intend to let anyone learn about this anytime soon, but one of the numerous types of magic he'd mastered in the chamber was the Animagus transformation. He still remembered the way he'd learned it.

_Harry was sitting in the middle of the chamber, meditating. He'd finished the needed spells, and just minutes ago, he had drunk the Animagus revealing potion. From what Salazar had told him, the way people currently learned the Animagus transformation, by transforming themselves part-by-part and then learning the feel of it, they all but killed the animal, simply replacing it with their own minds. This method worked decently enough, in that it allowed anyone and everyone to become one with enough practice. However, two things that were completely impossible with it were a magical form, or multiple forms. It had gotten so bad, that everyone today believed that both were impossible._

_The truth was quite the opposite. There had been a time when very few people could become Animagi, but every single one of them had one or more magical forms. It was obvious, from what Harry remembered Salazar telling him._

"_You are a wizard, a magical creature. Once you know that, then why should it be impossible to become another magical creature? In fact, what should be impossible is to lose your core to become a non-magical animal. No, it is just the usual spiel spouted by those weaklings to appease the Mudbloods when they find themselves unable to take magical forms"_

_Harry had to bow to the logic in the words. Soon enough, his meditation took him to his mind, where the power of the potion, combined with the spells, should allow his form (or forms) to emerge from the combination of his blood, his soul, and his magic. As he went deeper and deeper into his mind, he felt himself change. The power of the spells, shaping him into the form that was a representation of his soul. _

_In moments, he felt his spine elongating, his ribs multiplying in number. His teeth turned into fangs dripping with the venom from the glands forming in his throat. As he turned into a basilisk, he wondered what it meant for him that his soul was that of a Basilisk._

_And within moments, as soon as he'd turned, he was back to human. _

"_So, how did it feel?" Salazar asked._

"_Strange". Harry replied. "I thought that it would be really difficult to take control from the animal's instincts. Instead, I felt fully in control."_

"_Really? No pride, no urge for acromantula flesh?" Salazar asked with a wary look on his face._

"_No." Harry confirmed._

"_Damn. I was hoping we could avoid this." He said, with apparent annoyance. "Don't worry. I know what the problem is. It happens when a mind mage does the transformation. The instincts don't form immediately."_

"_What? What'd you mean?" Harry asked._

_Salazar explained "Listen. When you transform, it happens with the help of all three elements of you. The first is your soul, which provides the form, next is your blood, which provides the material, and lastly your magic, which gives the energy." The body and powers of the form come from the blood and the magic respectively, but the mind has to come from the soul. The mind has to take shape from the freely flowing emotions and feelings. These are normally provided by the spells you use, but even they can only excite the emotions if they can." _

_Harry's eyes widened "But with me being an Occlumens….."_

"_Exactly, but don't worry, they'll come sooner or later, and you can use the powers anyway."_

**Flashback end**

Whenever the mental aspects of being a Basilisk came, it was a different matter. But what concerned him right now was that being a Basilisk, he had the ability to use heat vision in addition to his magical sensing, and both were currently screaming at him that the seat was not at all empty.

Still, whoever it was, he could deal with them later. Right now the priority was to get a good seat.

In a few minutes, Harry was settled, and waiting for the others to come, till he heard a _very _unwelcome voice.

"_Harry?_" the voice of Hermione Granger came.

Great, that was just what he needed. The Great Weasley Brood was here.

"Yes, Granger, is there anything you want?"

Colouring up, Hermione started shrieking. "What are you doing here? Professor Dumbledore-"

"I wasn't aware that it was any of your business where I went, Granger," Harry replied smoothly, "Or Dumbledore's, for that matter."

At this, Ron deigned to open his mouth. "Don't talk to Hermione like that, Potter!"

Harry suppressed the urge to sigh. He really, _really_ wasn't in the mood for this. "Do curb the screaming, Weasley. We're in polite company here. Now, either you quiet down, or scamper off. I have things to do, and you test my patience." Harry said, before he stood up and moved to the edge of the box.

Taking out a box the size of a matchbox from his pocket, he set it on the railing, before pointing his wand at it.

Immediately, the box took off, floating a few feet ahead. With another flick, it expanded to its true size, which was as big as an average school trunk. Out floated fifty professional grade video cameras, which zoomed to their predetermined positions with yet another flick of Harry's wand.

Out of them, about half would be more or less stationary, covering the whole stadium from the optimum angles. Out of the rest, around twenty would move with the team and the referee, keeping track of everyone at all times from multiple angles. The rest would cover the top box, the mascots, etc.

Coming back, Harry ignored whatever the Weasleys tried to scream at him, moving to the other end of the box. Just in time, as he saw Fudge and Oblanski, the Bulgarian minister come into the box.

He greeted them, and the others that came after them, face a seamless mask of politeness. The Weasleys may have spoiled his mood, but this was business.

The last guests to come were, unsurprisingly, the Malfoys. Seeing them, especially the woman Harry knew to be Draco's mother, Harry decided to have some fun. Rising from his seat, he walked briskly towards them.

"Hello Draco, long time no see, how are you?"

"Potter?" the boy sputtered, totally surprised.

Ignoring him, Harry gave a slight bow to the woman. "May I have the honour of knowing your name, Madam?"

"Narcissa, Lord Wilmington. Narcissa Malfoy."

Turning back to Draco, Harry said "Oh, Draco, you never told me you had such a lovely sister!"

At this, Lucius joined his son in the sputtering. Which was actually rather odd, as Harry knew him to be much smoother. Showed what could happen if one put their guard down, Harry supposed.

Narcissa gave a small smile. "Actually, Draco is my son, Lord Wilmington."

"Oh, my apologies then," Harry said, not sounding apologetic at all. "And do call me Harry, Lady Malfoy. We are cousins, after all."

It went like this throughout the match, Harry lightly flirting with the woman, while exchanging names with several people.

The match ended with a win for Ireland while Krum caught the snitch (almost the exact opposite of what Bagman had bet on, meaning that he was now Harry's; bought and paid for).

Harry descended the stairs two at a time, wanting to get to headquarters and see how things went with the telecast. He also wanted to give the final closing statement himself, before the highlights began.

As he went, he gave a final mental command to the cameras to start moving towardsthe campsites, to cover the crowds leaving and the Irish celebration party.

Reaching the ground, he turned and Disapparated.

A.N:

Whoa, was that tough to write.

As always, reviews/PMs are recommended for any clarifications, suggestions or criticism.

See ya

blackshadow111


	9. Chapter 9

Before you read it, I would like to inform you that I don't like this chapter. It is rushed, forced, and worst of all, short. But I had to get _something _out, before I took a fortnight long gap. If you dislike it, flame away. I don't mind. I think I'll take it down and replace it if I get enough hate.

**22 August 1994  
Potter Manor  
Wales**

Harry was busy. He'd been so for the whole of the summer, but this time was especially so. Just hours ago, he'd been informed by Cray that his computer was at last, finished.

So now he needed to arrange for a proper method to use it. Cray had said he was preparing something, but he didn't know what Harry had in mind.

Even after assimilating the man's memories, the man was still something of an enigma to Harry. Roger Seymour Cray had been born in the city of Teirm, in the heart of Wilmington estate.

By the time he was seven, it had become clear. He was a squib, but one with an unbelievable mind.

This had been noticed by Charlus Potter, who had appointed Cray as the chief researcher for new items and possibilities for the Potters' then bustling trade. Cray had excelled and worked hard at it for five years, from when he was twelve to when he became seventeen. During that time, he'd been responsible for rediscovering no less than three dozen wards, spells and potions, all of which had netted the family considerable wealth. A fair man, Charlus offered Cray one favour of any sort he chose.

Almost every time a lord offered this to their vassal, the choice was always freedom. Cray was different. He asked to be allowed to work on his own, finding a way to make technology work with magic.

Knowing that if anyone could do it, it would be Cray, Charlus granted it, asking just what he needed.

Cray gave him a list, and Charlus complied.

First of all, using his extensive influence, Charlus arranged for a completely new Muggle background to be created for Cray in the United States. For a new name, he simply swapped the first and middle names.

Then, he paid for a full Muggle education, supplying potions and spells that allowed Cray to learn amounts suitable for years in days. The final measure was to setup a supply of books, potions and enchanted items to be delivered to him whenever he needed them via house elves.

Anyway, coming back to the matter of computers, Harry had been assured several times that there was no possible way for anyone to surpass the sheer speed and power of the Thunderbolt I, or TB-1, as Cray called it, at least, not for the next fifteen years. Over five million processors, each with a DRAM going in multiple terabytes gave the computer an unsurpassable edge, and that was before one took the magical aspect into account. The materials that had been used to make the wires and the processors was an alloy of Mythril and living silver, allowing for a signal transfer speed far greater than any Muggle metals could provide.

That was just the barest parts of what Cray had told Harry about it, but it was the only part Charlus' grandson cared for right now. There would be time when he would devote himself to mastering technology, but right now the first priority was magic.

Speaking of which, Harry had finally identified what he needed.

Having selected seven of the best crystals, he left the storage vault, returning to the room he'd turned into a lab.

Here, he went over to the fixture he'd constructed such a long time ago, when he'd first told Cray to build him a computer. It was a six-pointed star, crafted out of pure Mythril, and covered in runes from almost every language on Earth. There were Japanese Kanji, Sanskrit letters, ancient high Atlantean, Lemurian, Greek, Scandinavian, the lot.

At each point of the star, there was a socket, glowing red from the heat supplied by the runes on it. Bending over the desk, Harry started a slow chant, while carefully inserting the crystals in the sockets. One by one, six of the crystals went in six sockets, Harry keeping his movements slow so as to keep in perfect tempo to the chant.

By the time he reached the sixth socket, the chant neared its end.

As soon as all six were done, Harry turned his attention to the central socket, placed exactly at the points where the two triangles creating the star overlapped. That one required special treatment, as he cut open a tiny nick on his forefinger with a mental command.

He used the blood to paint a very specific set of runes on the crystal, all the while continuing the chant. As he reached the crescendo, he placed the crystal in the socket, before uttering two words. At '_lock', _the heat of the sockets soared, melting them slightly, just enough for the crystals to sink slightly. Immediately afterwards, they cooled off, leaving the crystals fixed permanently to the star. The next word was '_connect_', at which the central crystal lit up with a brilliant glow, now connected to Harry via his blood.

Soon afterwards, the other crystals gained the same glow, gaining the power from the central crystal.

Next, Harry focused on the memories he had assimilated from the topmost computer experts in the world, both Hackers and the legit programmers. Keeping them fixed in his mind, he raised his wand to his temple, before pulling it away, taking with it a cluster of memories. These he pushed into the central crystal.

Again, they flowed from it along the runes to the point crystals, which was exactly what he intended. As the last of the memories seeped away into the points, the central crystal was once again empty.

This time, Harry focused on exactly what he wanted to do, turning his wishes into instructions, storing them away into the crystal.

Soon, he was done. Finally, he picked up the star, Apparating straight to Slytherin Manor.

There, he opened the door to another lab. It was a huge hall; circular, with at least a hundred computers along its circumference. They were all connected forming one huge processing machine. Another thing unusual was that all their key-boards and mice were covered with runes. Runes for linking, for strength and self repair, along with ones for remote control, they were all there.

Setting the star in the middle of the room, Harry projected his power at it, with a third word '_activate_'.

Soon, the crystals glowed again, as they connected to the wards, setting up a supply of power. Harry's ring pulsed as he willed the wards to allow it, and to draw more power if needed from the ley-lines.

Finally empowered, the star gave a bright flash, subsiding to a slight glow. Then, it rose off the ground, floating some fifteen feet in the air. Harry gave a smile as he felt links of power form between the star and the computers. Within seconds they were all on, and in another, a number of program editors for a number of languages were open in their screens.

And then, letters started appearing on the screens, line by line appearing in seconds, appearing as if being typed by the fastest hands in the world.

Satisfied, harry Apparated back to his study in Potter Manor. His computer was ready, and soon enough he would have the world's first real AI.

In his study, Harry was sitting on his chair, while four quills scratched away, writing letters on his mental dictation.

_Dear Lord Malfoy_

_I hope this letter finds you in the best of health. I have written this letter to tender a formal apology for the abominable conduct I displayed at the end of my second Hogwarts year, causing you the loss of your elf. Looking back, I can't say how obnoxious I found my actions._

_I would also like to offer you full compensation for the elf, in whatever form you deem appropriate._

_Apart from that, there is the matter of the Wizengamot. As you may be aware, I have just claimed my seats on that august body. Among the seats that are now mine, there is the seat for the House of Slytherin. Looking through the Lords' journal for that family, I found mention that the houses of Malfoy and Slytherin are ancient allies. I now write to you, hoping to resurrect that relation so that together, we may further the cause of the betterment of the magical world._

_Yours sincerely,  
The Duke of Parsellsia._

Another would go to the same manor, but to a different recipient, via a different owl, from a different person.

_Dear Cousin Narcissa_

_I hope this letter finds you in the best of health and spirit. It is to inform you that the House of Black once again requires the presence of its daughter. You are invited to number twelve, Grimmauld Place tomorrow for a lunch. You may bring the Lord and heir of Malfoy._

_Till then, I remain _

_Aries  
Lord Black_

Yet more were addressed to a number of Ministry employees.

_Dear Mr -_

_It is hoped that this letter finds you in the best of your health. It is to inform you that your presence is requested at Potter Manor for this evening, to discuss the ramifications of the fact that the Earl of Wilmington finds himself owed a debt of - galleons by you. This letter shall turn into a Portkey at -o'clock, and it's strongly recommended that you come, so that we can avoid any misunderstandings._

_Yours sincerely_

_The earl of Wilmington_

Another went to the families of Abbott, Wood, Bell, and Howard.

_Dear Lord -_

_This letter is to inform you that a new Lord of the house of Gryffindor has risen, and your presence is required at Gryffindor Palace to reconfirm your oaths, and to discuss the future of the House of Gryffindor. This letter shall turn into a Portkey at -o'clock, and you are requested to make sure that your whole families attend._

_Yours sincerely,The Duke of Gryphonsworth_

That had been the last of the letters. The ones to the Malfoys he'd sent with Hedwig and Lazarus (a black eagle owl he'd recently purchased). For the rest, however, something a tad different had been needed. It was a spell called the Nuntius Charm, and what it did was to create a magical construct, generally an avian of some type, that could carry letters much the same way an owl could.

It was not a common spell, requiring quite a bit of energy. A normal wizard Harry's age could perhaps create half a dozen, becoming incredibly drained, while an adult could go up to eighteen on an average. Harry, being Harry, had created thirty on his first go, without so much as breaking a sweat. They were all contained within gems currently, waiting to be used.

He would later have to setup meetings for the vassals of the Slytherin and Potter families, of course, but it would have to be the next day. There simply wasn't any more time today.

Not that all that much of the summer was left, even. It was barely a week to September, and then he would be at Hogwarts. He had no intention to be confined there, but still it was a drain on his time.

Unfortunately, it was a necessary one. He needed Hogwarts. He needed the students there. He would talk to them, laugh with them, all the while picking out the ones that he could consider recruiting to help him in his plans.

Turning on his heels, Harry Apparated to a chamber buried far below Potter Manor. He had to see the keystone.

It was a known fact that one of the most important considerations in choosing locations when magic was concerned, were ley lines. They were the veins of the earth through which magic flowed endlessly, relentlessly.

Endless wars had been fought for the right to control these ley lines, because apart from the core present in every magical person, they were the most important source of power in the magical world. Control over the ley lines was what defined control over land in the magical world. And that control was beyond precious.

The lines themselves were numerous, spanning across the globe in an interconnected web, but distinctions could and had been made. The lines were identified as three types, defined by size and intensity of the magic.

There were, exactly, forty two of what were called the primary ley lines in the world. They shifted and moved every few millennia, but the number remained same. Out of them sprouted roughly five hundred secondary ley lines, which in turn branched off into several lesser ones. Currently, one of the reasons Magical Britain was so powerful despite the corruption and weakness spread through it was that there were no less than ten ley lines passing through it.

Control over them was held by the ministry, and that was the backbone of its power. The number of secondary ley lines passing through Britain was one hundred and thirty five, and control over them was what gave the old families the enormous power they held. Out of them, Harry controlled nearly sixty, pooling together what was held by the individual families he was Lord of. They were what powered his factories, his wards, the other enchantments on the manors and castles and palaces that he owned.

Control was attained by keystones. They tapped into the power of a line, and most importantly, channelled a portion of that power into wards to prevent others from doing so.

It was possible for a wizard to connect themselves to the lines, to let their power flow unrestricted through themselves. Possible, but more dangerous than anyone could imagine. People had been known to explode trying that, or turn into a statue, burning from the inside out, or any of a thousand other things. If they managed it, they became more powerful than anyone could imagine, but the number was positively tiny compared to the list of failures.

Naturally, Harry was going to do it. He had no intention of destroying himself, and so he would be starting small, very small. Indeed, Potter Manor sat over a crossing of three lines. One secondary and two lesser ones. Using the secondary line so soon would be guaranteed insanity, so he would be using one of the lesser lines, one that was positively tiny.

The process wasn't all that complicated actually. The spells and runes were all already there, all that had to be done was to activate them.

He would have done it sooner, but the problem was that earlier, his core was bound so tightly he would have exploded if it was released all at once, which was a given when connecting to ley lines. But now the spells and potions had borne fruit, and the bindings on his core, at least, were weakened considerably. His arcane talents would take much longer, unfortunately.

Harry had also visited Shacklegrave Manor to increase the output from the Sharr lines, as he knew for a fact that there was another time compression chamber there, as in most of the properties owned by an eldritch family. By now it was fully charged, and Harry could lengthen his week into several months inside.

Of course, that didn't mean he was going to do it _now_, he had several meetings to attend, and being overloaded with power was not a state to have them in.

What he was going to do now, was to start charging the power crystals that had finally been delivered from the mines, so that he would be able to power the chamber's acceleration setup.

Speaking of which, the spells on his core weren't the only thing that were showing results. He had just received messages from the local leaders of his vassal populace, where he'd arranged an impromptu OWL exam. The results were extremely promising indeed. The lozenges had borne considerable fruit, and he could now start them on the more advanced magic.

Harry thought back to all he knew about his vassals.

There were roughly three hundred and fifty thousand people in magical Britain. Out of them, around two hundred thousand were 'free', so as to speak, although all it meant that it was that it was the ministry that controlled them. The rest were the vassals of the Noble families. The minor families didn't have many individually, with nearly seventy families having a sum total of sixty-sixty five thousand vassals. The rest belonged to the Great Fifteen.

The Nine Ancient and Noble families had around forty thousand to themselves, while the Eldritch families had about the same number.

There were exceptions of course, quite a few of them, but this was the rough setup.

All of this meant that Harry himself controlled roughly thirty two thousand people under the combined might of his families. Out of them, the numbers he could afford to show were around half, as the total coming from the Potter, Gryffindor and Slytherin families. A few weeks earlier, the number of educated among them had been in the lower hundreds, but with the distribution of the lozenges, it had swiftly risen to over seventy percent of the total number.

That would allow Harry to implement the next stage of his plans.

After all, he didn't intend to have thirty thousand scholars. He'd made another set of lozenges, this time of some of Voldemort's less ruinous knowledge, coupled with the training that he'd stolen out of all those Muggle soldiers and commandos. Of course, when it came to training for real fights, it was hardly enough to have their memories.

Harry had given them a portion of the weapons he'd collected from the dealers all over the world, to allow them some live fire training. For the magic, he'd enchanted golems to serve as training dummies, and arrangedfor a diet that would amplify and focus their magical powers.

In addition to that, he'd built several state-of-the-artfully equipped gymnasiums throughout the lands.

_He _didn't currently have the time to learn those skills. They did, and would.

And these weren't even the limits of what they would be learning. Once Harry had connected to the ley line, he would be rid of the bindings on his core. That would allow him to focus on weakening and removing the blocks that shackled his arcane talents.

After all, that was where the true power was.

All too soon, it was time to meet his debtors.

As the Portkeys came in one by one, Harry confirmed their names in his mind. Sir William Delaney, Auror Anthony Proudfoot, Derek Cresswell, Lord Timothy Dalglish, it went on.

'_A very good haul.'_ Harry thought.

Indeed, there were seventeen Warlocks, six Aurors and nearly a dozen other Department heads and deputies here. But then, at one hundred and fifty thousand galleons, it had better be good, especially as that amount was spent buying debts amounting to barely a hundred thousand galleons.

Harry had bargained hard, but the sheer number of middlemen was tiring and expensive to buy off.

In a few minutes, the last of them had arrived, and Harry gave a mental command to Gelvis, the Head Elf for Potter Manor, to escort them to the guest dining room.

Reaching it himself via apparition, he sat on the head of the Table, and invited them to the scrumptious tea laid out for them.

"Come, gentlemen, let's have some tea."

They were all professionals, thankfully, and knew how these sorts of things went. For the next half hour, the only sounds were of people eating, and the small talk that such occasions naturally prompted.

This wasn't something Harry was doing out of the kindness of his heart. It was a biological fact that the mind of a person relaxed when their stomachs were full, and that was something he would take full advantage of.

He hadn't missed the discreet spells they had performed on the food to make sure that it was devoid of the usual tricks that were used to control them.

As if he would be so crude.

What they were looking for wasn't in the food. The whole manor's wards had a complacency element woven into them keyed to target everyone except Harry and his elves. Apart from that, there were a number of potions in aerosol form present in the air of the room. There was Unctuous Unction, wit-dampening potion, a weakened draught of befuddlement, the elixir of obedience, and so on.

By the time he started invoking the debts and asserting the pressure that would ensure that their obedience to him was complete and irreversible, they would be far too gone to even realize it. Because the magic he was using was different.

Normally a haze of sorts filled a person's head when under the influence of such magic. They felt rather like as if they were drunk. This would not be the case here. As far as they realized, their thoughts would remain clear, concise and reasonable.

Their decision making abilities, reasoning powers and long term planning would all be completely crippled, and they wouldn't even realize it.

There was also the fact that there wouldn't be a single trace remaining by the time they got back to somewhere they could check for it (he knew for a fact that at least half had made arrangements for full-fledged blood tests before coming).

Really, loaded dice were the only dice worth considering when playing a game of this sort.

Soon, they were fed, watered and drugged, and Harry clapped his hands to get their attention.

"So, my friends, let's get to business. All of you owe me debts that are currently beyond your ability to repay. I know that, and I understand that. So, as I am a reasonable person, let us consider alternative methods of repayment."

"Well, of course, Lord Wilmington. Please elaborate." One of them said. Walter Mankins, if Harry was correct.

"All of you have rather important positions in the ministry. With my support, you can get even more important ones. You know that, I know that. Also, money is a very minor consideration. After all, what is money except a tiny little tool? It comes, it goes, and it hardly makes all that much of a difference.

"On the other hand, people, loyalty, power, those things matter, don't they?" he asked.

At this point, they would've found it perfectly reasonable had he said that the sky was purple, so there was hardly any hope of them disputing his words.

"Yes, yes of course, my lord." Cresswell said.

"And you know that I'm a good person, don't you? You know that if I absolve you of your debts, I should get something in return, shouldn't I? Like, maybe your loyalty to me, so that I can count on you to do a little favour for me now and then?"

"Of course, Lord Potter, of course."

"Good. And we all know the best way to ensure loyalty, don't we, people?"

"Yes we do, Harry. May I call you Harry?" Another voice said. Harry glanced over at him. It was Jenkins, from the registry.

Harry snapped his fingers. Immediately, an elf appeared, bearing a stack of parchment.

"Now, these are magical agreements. By signing them, you and I accept a few terms. Y'know, I hold off on the debts, you do something for me now and then, that sort of thing."

After yet another concurrence, Harry handed out the agreements.

Once they had them, it was time for the slightly tricky part. As they read the parchment, he saw them nod slightly as they saw the part where it said that he would continue to extend the debts as long as they performed a number of tasks for him, he saw their eyebrows furrow slightly as they saw that there was no mention of just how many 'tasks' there would be, and finally he saw them ignore it.

After all, he was just a boy. No doubt he had just picked up a standard template and filled it out. It could hardly do any harm.

And then came the tricky part.

Once again this was a part where his extensive knowledge of mind magic had been priceless. Technically, such agreements had to be entered into willingly, without even the slightest influence of mind alterations. But all it had taken Harry was a strong confundus charm cast on the parchment, and it was ready to believe that they were, in fact, completely free of his influence.

And so it was done. In a matter of hours, Harry had acquired a host of well-placed agents in the ministry of magic.

Of course, it hadn't been anywhere that simple; he'd had to spend weeks preparing for those hours. Otherwise just any rich idiot would have been getting their own agents in the ministry. There had been so many plans to make, things to arrange.

First of all, there had been the matter of selecting the right officials. Too low placed, and it would have taken forever to get them to any position that could yield a profit. Too high, and he would be vulnerable to the regular scans the Unspeakables conducted on these people. That was the only reason why Bagman hadn't been among them today, after all.

Not that the Unspeakables would find anything in their minds even if they did scan them. But the fact was that the risk was far too great.

He would be taking them one day, but not before he'd arranged a cushion for the fall that could come. A cushion, like what he'd just started preparing, in fact.

That reminded him, he'd have to take another look at the blackmail material he'd just acquired from the minds of these people.

Blackmail was another consideration for Harry. He had a great deal of material on some very powerful people from a number of sources. A lot had been inherited from the information of the lives of Charlus Potter, Orion Black, and of course Voldemort, and the rest he'd taken himself, from the minds of those he'd visited in the ministry.

But it wasn't something he could use like he'd just used the debts. It would have to come suddenly and unpredictably. An anonymous letter here, a Floo call there, all designed to send them in a blind panic unable to do anything other than bow to his had to come as a thunder strike, something that would leave them shocked and crippled, not something they knew and were prepared for.

There would be a time for that too, but right now he had things to do.

The next item on his agenda was his meeting with the vassals. It would have to happen on wholly different lines, but at last he had a few hours to prepare.

First of all, there would be no need to use mind controls in Gryffindor Palace, not with the families already owing him their fealty. He would need to renew those oaths, of course, but it as something rather easily done. No, what could prove complicated was to turn them into something he could use in his long term plans. After all, they were firm, 'light' sided families, and would no doubt see his plans, and by extension himself, as 'bad' and 'evil'.

He scoffed mentally. That was the exact sort of thing he was trying to change in the world. There was no such thing as good or evil in the world. The only bad person was an incompetent one. He would have to act in front of them for now, but soon enough he would have them stained in his colours.

Albus was getting seriously worried now. Just a few days ago, he'd been notified that he had been removed as the proxy as the Gryffindor and Slytherin seats, and that the new Lord was going to be attending to them himself now. This worried him, as not only did this upset the current balance of the magical world, it also halved Dumbledore's own political power.

It was a well-known fact, that when Hogwarts had been built, the founders had all signed agreements investing several rights and privileges in the Headmaster of the Institution. When either of the houses went dormant, their voting rights in the Wizengamot would fall to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, to be used as he saw fit. This had been done to give Hogwarts some teeth, so that it could defend itself legally and politically.

Dumbledore had used those votes many times to further the light's agenda, even if the interests of Hogwarts were occasionally somewhat neglected. He had to, as after all when all was said and done, Hogwarts was just a school.

For example, there had been that pesky little Warlock that had brought up a list of Muggleborns who were regularly abused by their Muggle relatives. Dumbledore had known that such a news would do a power of no good to the light's just claims that the Muggles were just as good as wizards, and so he had used Hogwarts' votes to quash the whole matter in a closed hearing before it ever reached the paper.

Similarly, there was the matter of that seven year old witch raped and murdered by those six Muggles. Her parents had come to the Wizengamot, asking the authority to extract retributive justice on them and their families. He'd had them arrested on charges of Muggle baiting under Arthur Wesley's Muggle protection Act.

After all, it wasn't as if he could afford the embarrassment the light would suffer if it turned out that the Wizengamot had given an anti-Muggle ruling, could they.

Anyway, coming back to the matter in hand, the Thirty-Six votes that had formed the core of his powerbase were absolutely vital to him. And now he'd lost half of those to some upstart!

Albus threw his mind back to his memories, trying to properly categorize his votes.

There were Nine Ancient and Noble families, each controlling six votes. They were the Potters, Blacks, Malfoys, Notts, Morrigans, Bones, Longbottoms, Yaxleys and the Smiths.

Apart from that, there were the six Eldritch Families, with nine votes apiece. They were the Sharrs, Peverells, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and the Slytherins.

Out of them, Albus currently had the support of the Longbottoms and the Smiths, and voted directly for the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. Peverell had been dormant for a long time, and no one knew just how the Sharrs worked.

So, he had about thirty votes that he could rely upon totally among the Greater families, and several more in the lesser ones. But the point was that he'd just lost eighteen votes!

Something would have to be done. Harry was already missing, no doubt getting up to all sorts of trouble. Now that he'd thrown off the protections Dumbledore had put on him so that he didn't hurt those poor Muggles, the evil boy was no doubt planning a catastrophe to destroy everything Albus had so lovingly built.

Severus had come back from Lucius's house completely empty handed, saying that the man had no way to find out anything about how Potter had gotten his Lordship.

No matter. Soon enough, the boy would be at Hogwarts, and would be under Albus's power. He would extract everything there was in his mind, and then he would take the appropriate steps.

Harry was sitting on a couch in Grimmauld Place. His meeting with the lords had gone well, with all of them renewing their oaths and swearing to follow his lead in all matters commercial and political. But then, it had never been the Gryffindor vassals he'd expected disobedience from.

No, the problems to come would come with the others, of that he had no doubt. Currently, he had to prepare for Narcissa's visit.

"Kreacher, attend me!" he said, snapping his fingers.

Immediately, the elf appeared with a slight popping sound. "Yes, Master? You's wanting something?"

"Yes Kreacher, come here." Harry said, as he palmed his wand.

As it did, Harry said "Now, Kreacher, you know mistress Narcissa and her family?"

"Yes, master. Kreacher knows."

"Good. They're coming here tomorrow. I want you to prepare this place for a formal luncheon, with all the usual attachments. If you need, use the wine and foodstuffs from any of my properties, but I will not tolerate any reduction in quality. Understood?"

"Yes, Master, Kreacher understands. Kreacher will make bestest lunch in Britain, with bestest wines and food."

"Apart from that, there is the matter that they are coming here under the belief that I am Aries Black, the third son of Lady Walburga, and brother of Regulus. I shall require you to act accordingly."

"Understood, master." It said.

For a moment, Harry was a bit surprised that it agreed without question. But then this _was_ a house-elf of the Black family. If the elf had served in Orion and Walburga's time, then things like this were par for the course as far as it was concerned.

Immediately afterwards, Harry used the Black signet ring to order all of the portraits, statues and busts to support his deception, feeding the back-story he'd created for Aries into their minds.

Next, he took out a whole set of photographs, books, letters and whatnot that he had forged in advance, setting them up in their proper places.

With that, he was done. He would've done the whole 'complacency' and potions thing, but there was no telling just what all Lucius would be coming prepared for, and being found out at such an early stage would be nothing short of disastrous.

Now all he had to do was sit wait for a man who even Voldemort himself admitted was slippery.


	10. Chapter 10

Welcome to the newest chapter of The Chronicles of Camelot.

Sorry for the delay, but my exams are in full swing and I'm writing this when by all decency, I should be busy studying.

**By the way, the last chapter has been updated from what I first posted. People who don't check it out are liable to miss the meaning of a lot of things in this chapter.**

For those who have read it just now, or even in the current year, are welcome to continue.

Expect an update for Overlord sometime before 10th Jan.

Now, on with the story

The next day, Harry spent several hours making several arrangements in the ministry under his various personae. Under his own face, he visited Bagman, invoking the vast debt the man owed him to make sure that he would have his support in the coming days. At the same time, Damien Peverell was in the minister's office, making a courtesy call and dropping a very explosive bombshell.

Similar tidings were visited upon Amelia Bones, the Director for Magical law enforcement, Jeremiah Witherly, the Chief Warden of Azkaban, not to mention several key members of the Wizengamot.

Lucius Malfoy was deep in thought. He had received a letter yesterday, carrying a very strange proposal from Harry Potter, of all people. It had been a rather well written formal apology about his conduct with that whole Dobby unpleasantness, and an offer for alliance.

An offer of alliance in the name of the house of Slytherin, to be exact.

Naturally, there was no possible way that Lucius was going to lose such a golden opportunity, but it was something that would have to be approached cautiously.

Because something had changed in the green eyed half-blood, Lucius was certain of it.

He had seen Harry Potter a couple of times before. Once in Diagon Alley, and then later in Dumbledore's office, during the very unpleasantness that the letter apologized for. Both times Lucius had been completely disappointed with the pathetic little urchin that it had been his misfortune to see.

On the other hand, Potter's behaviour in the world cup told a different tale.

The way he'd talked, his mannerisms, his gait, all of it positively _screamed_ of high born purity. The contrast couldn't have been greater, and Lucius was at a complete loss as to probable reasons.

It was rather worrying, but he would have to see to it later. Right now he was in a waiting room off the office of the Minister of Magic, waiting for the time of his appointment. As he paced, coming near the door of the office, he heard Fudge's voice, practically screaming "What, but that changes the constitution. I can't do that!"

He was surprised. Normally there was a bevy of secrecy spells on the door to the office. They must have weakened somehow.

Anyway, more interesting were the words coming out.

"Actually, Minister, if you check the constitution you will find that this is how things were meant to be all along. The current status quo was never to be more than temporary. And it's not as if it matters all that much anyway. After all, you will be able to continue everything just as you have been all along. All I require is official acknowledgement, and the position that is mine by right." A voice Lucius had never heard before said. It paused for a few seconds, before continuing "And I'm not leaving you high and dry. Trust me; there'll be quite a bit of benefit for you in the bargain."

"I suppose you're right. You are willing to swear an oath that we will be allowed to use it as we've been doing?" Fudge's voice came, now noticeably calmer.

"But of course, Minister. After all, I have nothing to hide." The voice said again.

There was silence for a few minutes.

"So, what do you need me to do?" Fudge asked eventually.

"Nothing much, really. I took the liberty of drawing up a few executive orders to the effect that we've discussed, addressed to the proper department heads, along with a press statement. All you need to do is to sign them.

"Oh, and I'm afraid I'm going to need a vow of non disclosure. See that parchment there, just sign it and we're good."

There was silence for a few seconds, before Fudge's voice continued. "There, all done. Now I can just toss them in my outbox." "Actually, I'd prefer to file them myself, if you don't mind." The mysterious voice continued. "Meanwhile, here's a little something for you"

"Um...what is it? It seems like some sort of form"

"It's an application form for a one percent share of Althric Artificers. I own ten percent of Althric Inc., which owns eighty-five percent of this, and I can tell you that one percent is more than enough to set you up for life. I've got my company stamp right here, and I can just approve your request here and now."

"Oh thank you really, Damien! This is a really generous gift." Fudge said. "Tell me, is there anything I can do for you in return?"

"Actually, there _is _one small matter. You see, the records of Althric, they're in the public domain, where anyone and everyone can see them. Now, I'm not saying that the Ministry isn't totally trustworthy, because it is. It's just that Erebus won't believe it." The voice, now identified as Damien, said.

"Who?" the minister asked.

"You know, Erebus Sharr, The Duke of Shacklegrave? He's a shareholder too."

"It's just, we; that is Harry and I, we know that you've placed only the best people in charge. Even Aries agrees. Says that you're the best thing to happen to this country. But the problem is that there are too many other people too, y'know? Dumbledore's agents, those Death Eaters that slipped in with the genuine Imperius victims, all those people are there, hidden in the ministry, aren't they?

"Now when Harry and I told them that all we needed to do was to ask you to sign some sort of executive order, Erebus told me that no way that could be so easy, that you didn't have the power to do that. He said that the morons at the Wizengamot were too short sighted to give such power to a person they're so jealous of for sorting out the problems that they struggled with for so long.

"But I know better. I mean, sure they must've tried, but they couldn't outwit _you,_ could they?"

That set Fudge's mind racing, even as he suppressed the shudder that rose with the mention of the Sharr name. Harry having three lordships was surprising enough, but the support of the Peverells, the Sharrs and the Blacks? He'd be invincible!

"And you're quite right, Damien. I do have the power to declare whatever records I choose as classified information. I can create a list of people who'd be the only ones able to access the info." He bragged.

"Uh, so you wouldn't mind doing it, then? Just make it Above Top Secret, accessible only to Me, Harry, Aries, Erebus, you of course, and a couple other people maybe?"

There was no answer: At least, not immediately. In a few minutes, Fudge said "There you go, Damien, just file that in the Archives, and no one can see those records without the express permission of us shareholders."

"Very nice, Cornelius. Thank you. We won't forget this." Damien said, before Lucius heard the sound of steps.

Having heard enough, Lucius swiftly made his exit, telling the secretary to make another appointment for tomorrow. He was soon at the apparition point and left, making a mental note to start buying Althric shares as soon as possible.

After all, times were changing. He had felt the dark mark on his arm grow stronger in this summer. And there was also the mark fired into the sky at the night of the match.

The implications were disturbing, and Lucius was currently in urgent need of insurance if his master was to return. Because if he did, then his wrath wouldn't be something anyone could forget.

Lucius's days of peace could be soon over, and the time would come to choose a side again.

The mark on his arm meant that there was only one side he could go to, really. So if he had the alliance of great houses like Sharr and Peverell, well, the possibilities were endless.

The fact that Althric had, in the short time since its beginning, collected a profit of roughly two million galleons was only a plus point.

Soon enough, it was time for Harry's lunch with the Malfoys as Aries Black. Apparating to Grimmauld Place, he saw that Kreacher really had turned the whole place upside down. The house looked extraordinary, to put it lightly. Every surface gleamed with fresh wax or polish – the floors so dark they could have been polished ebony. Gleaming silver sconces supporting elaborate lights were in every room. The door handles were silver, often with fine crystals embedded in them. Truly, it was a masterpiece of opulence; Voldemort knew that not even Malfoy Manor had such decorations.

Speaking of the Malfoys, the wards notified Harry, requesting permission to allow a floo connection to Malfoy Manor. Harry gave it, and felt the link form, even as the fire turned green. Soon, he saw in his mind's eye three figures come in one by one, stepping out of the fire into his living room, to be welcomed by Kreacher, as was tradition.

Immediately, he could feel them, the numerous enchantments carried by all three Malfoys against nearly all forms of tampering, mental and physical. He could guess that there were counters to just about every mind control trick a family like Malfoy may be aware of, along with others, wit enhancers and veritaserum antidotes.

This sort of thing was more or less standard when attending a meeting like this, after all.

He was currently sitting at one of the couches in the main formal sitting room, waiting for Kreacher to escort them in, taking the maximum amount of time possible to both show off as much as possible of the only parts of the house they would be seeing, while Harry himself directed the diagnostic spells embedded in the wards to identify, and possibly nullify, the protections they were all carrying.

Far too soon for his tastes, the elf took its place just inside the door before announcing, "Presenting The Most Honourable Lucius Malfoy V, the Marquis of Wiltshire and his wife, The Marchioness of Wiltshire and their son, the honourable Lord Draco Malfoy."

Harry executed a polite tilting of the head. As they came close, he rose from his seat, shaking hands with Lucius, and Draco, and bending to brush his lips across the back of Narcissa's hand.

"It's been far too long cousin." Harry said in his disguise's slow drawl. "Come, sit. I'm sure you have a great many questions about me." He spoke smoothly, making a point of drawing their attention to the ring on his finger via few seemingly casual gestures.

"Indeed it has been a long time since I visited this house, Lord Black." She spoke, ever the consummate aristocrat.

"And you Lucius, I'm sure we will have a good time in our talks." Harry continued, turning to the Marques.

"Of course, Aries, it goes without saying." Ah, there was the Lucius Harry knew and loathed from Voldemort's memories. The man who never said anything with his words, but everything with his airs.

Finally looking at Draco, he said "And Draco will tell me all about Hogwarts, won't he?"

"Of course, Lord Black" the boy somehow managed without hesitation. It would seem he'd been getting a bit more training this summer than usual.

Harry resisted the urge to speak. He knew that with a few well placed words, he could destroy all hopes Draco had of becoming Lord Malfoy here and now. But this was not the time.

In the grand scheme of things Draco was just a little gnat, an annoyance. He might have been some kind of archrival to Harry once, but Harry wasn't that wet behind the ears soul anymore.

He would use the Malfoys, the father, the son and the mother, till they couldn't be used anymore. He would take everything; their money, their power and their magic, till they were bloody and beaten, hardly comparable to what they were now.

Once that happened, well... accidents tended to happen quite a bit when one was dealing with magic.

Playing the gracious host, Harry had them sitting in a few moments.

With a snap of Harry's fingers, Kreacher popped in silently with a tray of beverages. The elf poured two fingers of firewhisky for the men in crystal tumblers, served a glass of white wine to Narcissa and a glass of chilled butter beer to Draco. Leaving the carafe of whisky on the table and the wine bottle in an ice bucket, the elf disappeared with another muted sound.

Narcissa swirled the wine in her glass and took a small sip. She nodded to herself at the hint of citrus she could detect in the wine while being pleasantly surprised by the mineral finish.

Resting her gaze on her supposed cousin, the formidable woman was the first to break the silence.

"I must say, cousin, it is good to finally meet you. After the various tragedies that had befallen my family, I was afraid that I was the last of the Blacks." Smiling charmingly, she continued. "It gladdens me to know that the house of Black is not going to die out. You must tell me all about yourself."

"Certainly, Narcissa," .Harry said, taking a sip from his glass, the drink turning into water as soon as it passed his lips. "What happened was that…" the story went on for nearly an hour, detailing how he'd been born an extremely feeble baby, and how Orion and Walburga had been forced to leave him at a Chinese monastery to ensure the proper care that only they could provide reliably. Of how it was with Sirius's death that he became the last male Black, necessitating his return.

He'd spent considerable time working out the details with Black family members, and knew that there wasn't a way on the Earth that Lucius could confirm or deny its veracity.

Not that it would matter in the slightest if Lucius managed to prove it a lie. The Black signet on his finger meant that he was Lord Black, regardless of circumstance or consequence.

As he reached the end, Kreacher informed them that lunch was served. Adjourning to the dining room, they continued with the conversation, talking of trivial matters throughout the meal, before Harry brought on the more serious matters.

Turning to Narcissa, he said "Now, there is one thing I need to tell you before you find out from the papers. I have reviewed all the members of our illustrious family, and your sister is proving to be a problem."

"I know, Andromeda's continued infatuation with the mudblood remains a problem. I tried to get Lord Arcturus to command her to return, but I was always refused." She tried to explain.

"Yes, that's true, but she isn't the sister I was talking about. Bellatrix is an embarrassment to the house of Black. After much contemplation, I have decided to permanently cast her out of the family." Harry 'voice cold enough to freeze ice.

That, it appeared, was all it took to destroy the woman's composure.

"My lord, think of what you're saying! You can't do that! She is a credit to the family. Casting her out would be utter foolishness!" she screamed. If Harry hadn't known the true depths of training that she'd been put through, he might even have believed it.

But as things were, he recognized it for what it was. The meeting had gone surprisingly smooth this far. The verbal traps and attempts at undermining him that Harry had been waiting for had been surprisingly absent till now.

'Till now,' being the key words. _This_ was the test to see how relaxed his rule would be.

Pity. They would come to find out that the answer was absolutely none.

With a raised eyebrow, he said. "You know, I could try to explain how she had single-handedly destroyed any possibilities of an alliance with the houses of Bones and Longbottom for us. I could go into close detail why continued acknowledgement of her was costing us precious goodwill." Harry took a moment to pin Narcissa with an icy glare.

"But I won't, as you forget your place, Narcissa." He thundered. "You forget that _I_ am the judge and jury in this family. Bellatrix Lestrange is a disgusting example of how Cygnus's spawn has fallen." He sneered, "Kissing the hem of a half-blood's robe, indeed!"

He took a deep breath, as if to compose himself. "I have decided," the finality in his voice was plain to all those seated. "Bellatrix Lestrange is a blood traitor to the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black. For this, she shall be stripped of her rights and privileges as a daughter of the Blacks.

"Apart from that," Harry's tone was still monotonous. "The house of Lestrange shall be stripped of all lands, monies and titles that were granted upon them. They shall never set foot in the Wizengamot or any of the Black estates again. I shall choose another family from among the vassals, and raise them to the rights and styles of being the Lords of Watersbridge."

He kept his face as neutral as ever, but inside his mind, he said '_Your move, Lucius.'_

"Very well, Lord Black," Lucius said in an urbane voice. That is a decision strictly for you to make. But may I ask if there is any specific reason for your displeasure? I mean, the loss of those alliances is damaging, but are you aware of anything about her that we don't know?"

Translation: are you going to turn against me too, for the same reason?

"Actually, the answer is no, Lucius. All I know is known by you too. I just find the things she has done to be extremely damaging to the reputation of our family. Just look at her, screaming about her loyalty to that pathetic son of a squib calling himself Voldemort. I mean, even you yourself were temporarily in that …_thing's_ thrall, but you are a Malfoy, and you renounced him at the proper time, as you should have done. She, on the other hand, continued to act as a disgusting little bitch, pining for him.

"No, the decision is made. It will be carried out when I deem appropriate."

That was the end of the meeting, although small talk continued for a few more minutes.

Soon after, they were gone, having taken most of Harry's day and good mood with them.

As he retired to his study, Harry contemplated the current state of his affairs. This was the last social thing he'd planned, before he did the ritual to open the ley line connection.

He would need to ensure that everything continued as he needed it to, even with the week long absence that would be ensuing.

The reason he needed to do that was that once he truly opened himself to the power of the ley lines, his spells would become almost ridiculously overpowered. He would be unable to control how much magic he expended till his core settled. Till that happened, he would have to completely isolate himself, and simply train till no one would be able to identify just what it was that he'd done.

It was somewhat a good thing, as it would also give him a chance to properly train himself to the level of those various martial artists and commandoes whose memories he'd taken.

Thinking back to his activities that summer, Harry sequenced them in his mind, obtaining a clear chain of everything he'd done and everything he'd arranged for to happen in the near future.

The first thing he'd done was to take his lordships. Then, it had been a four year long training holiday inside the chamber. There, he'd absorbed the combined memories of nearly twenty people, to get skills ranging from intensive combat, mind manipulation to magical politics and finance. The rest of the time had been spent in a haze of training and planning, to utilize those skills to formulate plans and strategies.

Once he was out of there, he'd taken his exams and secured his freedom, founded Althric, and began work on revitalizing his assets. He had visited his mines, his farms, orchards and greenhouses, just about everything he owned, restructuring all of them into one single company, recasting spells, renewing fading enchantments, restarting production, so on.

The main branches of Althric that were functional already were the Althric Chroniclers, the Althric Artificers, and the Peverell Broadcasting Service.

The PBS would take care of itself, especially as the fantasy serials he'd started were already broadcasting.

The Artificers were a bit more complicated. He had currently held off from starting retail on the paper, clothes and other Muggle items, sticking to the tried and tested things like the Lozenges and enchanted everyday articles. The reason for that was simple, he was building reserves.

For the paper, he'd not even bothered to cut down any trees at all, as all it had taken him was to purchase nearly the entire stock of waste paper currently available anywhere in Britain. Purchased with conjured cash, he'd gotten tens of tonnes for absolutely nothing.

Those he'd fed into the mills for being recycled into high quality, enchant-able paper. Retailing would begin when at least half the stock was converted, something that should be done by the time he came out of the time chamber. The same went for the clothes, the cell phones, the computers, and everything else.

It was for the Chroniclers that the real efforts had been taken. Currently the only things that it had going were the numerous Boy-Who-Lived books that were now his complete monopoly.

To change that, Harry had made visits to St. Mungo's, intent on taking advantage of another of Dumbledore's mistakes. Harry had discovered with a little probing that the man had never really bothered to publicize the truth about Lockhart, allowing his hero image to not just survive, but flourish.

It had taken the opening of a brand new 'Lily Potter' ward in the hospital, along with a few much more discreet 'donations' to both the Director of the hospital and the head of the permanent spell damage ward, but Gilderoy Lockhart had suddenly gone into coma, his last act being to transfer all rights of his books and image to Althric Chroniclers.

It had cost Harry rather considerably to ensure that the news never reached any ears, but it was worth it, seeing as with that he ensured that the Chroniclers would be secure for the foreseeable future.

Once the things in the magical world had been sorted out (at least in part), it had been time to begin on the Muggle world. He'd created numerous identities, given himself skills and abilities to deal with the intricacies of the Muggle world, by acquiring memories of nearly another two dozen Muggles.

Next had been Phoenix. He'd created the company, basing it off massive capital purloined from the stashes of dictators, weapon merchants, drug cartels, and gangs all over the world. It had gone into purchasing and resurrecting a truly huge number of companies.

Once again, the most important branch currently was Phoenix Infrastructure, which was secure in its position, carrying out a huge contract in Yugoslavia. Similarly, the Phoenix Auctioneers were busy slowly selling off the huge hoard of art he'd recovered from the Nazi caches, so they would be alright too. Phoenix Cybernetics (formerly the Cray computer Corporation), which he'd based permanently in England, was currently working on a series of supercomputers which would be enough to ensure that their superiority went unchallenged throughout the world. It wasn't that simple, of course, as Harry alone knew just how many times he'd moved backwards and forwards through time in order to get it all done without raising too many eyebrows.

Currently there was an array of obscurity spells making it so that no one could really focus on the details of Phoenix. The anomalies that were present there (there were quite a few of them, unfortunately), were simply going unnoticed as the staff and, much more importantly the press, found themselves quite unable to recall the specifics of the company, its workings, the dates, and most importantly its CEO, the ultra reclusive Samuel Phoenix.

That was mostly all it took for the businesses, and they were the most delicate of his interests in the Muggle world. The dictators all over the world had been programmed to slowly repair the damage they'd done to their to their countries' infrastructure (while at the same time reinforcing the damage they'd done to the morale of their populace).

The way he'd set them up, they all would look after themselves, particularly with Salazar holding the reigns of the Serpent Sworn.

The same went for his political interests in the magical world. He'd sent out orders to both his vassal nobles and the men he controlled via the debts, ensuring that they would be among the only ones prepared for the shitstorm that was going to be released tomorrow.

The last concern was the vassals, and they were taken care of as well. One month ago, the vast majority of them had been completely untrained and uneducated, worthless for all but the simplest of tasks. He had given them the inception candies, spent hours upon hours working on familiarising them with the knowledge contained within, and even then it had taken him nearly two full weeks to get any tangible results.

It had been after that that he'd built gyms and training rooms for them, giving them memories of martial artists and trained commandos, along with numerous magical supplements.

All these efforts had finally allowed some sort of soldiers to emerge from the peasants he'd inherited.

It was far from done, though.

Harry had timed his arrangements so that there would be a consignment of nearly thirty-five thousand wands arriving at his estates just as he came out of his training, along with another batch of Lozenges, these ones containing memories of capable Aurors, Professional soldiers that'd fought in numerous wars, along with a multitude of others.

Once they were distributed and absorbed by them, Harry could really go to work. He anticipated that after that it would take a few months in time acceleration, getting them familiarised with the memories as they cast the spells, brewed the potions, did the rituals, etc., to whip them into the fighting force he wanted.

He'd taken care of everything. It was time to go.

In his office at the heart of one of the oldest of the world's currently functioning educational institutions, one of the oldest and most powerful men in magical Britain was also thinking over the events of the past summer.

Albus Dumbledore was finding himself unable to understand just what it was that had gone wrong. It was an unusual state of affairs for him, and he didn't like it one bit.

First of all, there had been that incident with Harry at the end of last year. A full dozen dementors, destroyed without a trace! He had been in a full mood to check just what it was that had caused it, but had thought better of it.

That wasn't too much. It was something easily corrected, except that on the first day of his holidays, the blasted boy had disappeared! He got off the train, and that was all Albus had known of him, till one after the other, disturbing news started pouring by the bucket-load.

At least he'd found out where he'd gone.

Albus had heard that the boy had somehow taken his lordship, but before he'd been able to act on the information, the boy vanished again!

Albus had spent the next month trying desperately to track down the boy. He'd tried the tracking spells, before remembering that they'd been broken in the dementor incident. He'd asked every connection he knew, stretching his influence as thin as he dared.

Still nothing.

Albus had been going nearly insane with worry. It was not just for the boy and where he might be, but also for what the public, not to mention the Wizengamot, would do to Albus if something happened to the heir of one of the fifteen that happened to be in his care.

Because few knew it, but Albus's power was fading. It was fading fast, both in terms of his magic and his political capital. The generation that currently sat on the highest seats of power in their world was one that had come after his glory days had passed. They hadn't seen him achieve anything with their eyes that was worth remembering, and the tales told by parents could only go so far.

The remaining old guard at the Wizengamot and the ministry, the warlocks like Marchbanks, Ogden, the Lords and Ladies like Augusta, the Aurors like Moody, they were the ones that really knew his power, and even they agreed that they were relics of a past age.

It didn't mean that he was powerless. Far from it, really. Even today, the 'quiet word' that he whispered in the ears of people like Cornelius and Amelia counted, but its ability to compare with the raw cunning and extreme wealth of people like Julius Morrigan and Lucius Malfoy was lesser and lesser with every passing day.

Albus Dumbledore was one hundred and thirty two years old. His body was frail, weak and twisted, his magic even more so as it was sapped to keep it functioning properly.

His core had once been huge; a honed weapon capable of felling entire nations if applied correctly, and his mind had been a reservoir of information and sheer brilliance that left so called geniuses scratching their heads.

Now? He was withered. His core was the only thing that kept moving a body that was ready to crumble any day.

He had seen much that he hated, and done much that he regretted. He remembered his days with Gellert, when he made wild plans of power with the boy three years his senior. He remembered the death of his mother, the admonishments of his brother as he tried again and again to break off the shackles on his potential, the shackles that were called 'family'.

He remembered the night he'd crept into Gellert's bed and the resolutely suppressed hatred in the other boy's eyes as he told him that he didn't think of Albus that way. That he didn't think of any boy that way. It'd hurt then, and it hurt now.

He remembered more, so much more, and he hated himself for it all.

With a tremendous effort of willpower, Albus brought his thoughts back to the present. Harry had reappeared after a month of absence straight at the ministry, the last place anyone expected, and by the time Albus could react, was gone again.

After that it had been an endless stream of bad news, as Albus heard reports of newly opened companies, of Diagon Alley broadcasts, and of Harry's repeated visits to the ministry.

The worst news, by far, had been hearing that Harry had also risen to the lordships of the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin. Not only did it make the boy untouchable to any political manoeuvres, it also stripped Dumbledore of half his seats in the Wizengamot.

Thinking of that, Albus sent a small prayer to the founders of Hogwarts, thanking them for their foresight. When Hogwarts had been founded, the founders had predicted, correctly, that the ministry and other bodies would try to interfere sooner or later in its workings.

To prevent that, they had decided to take some measures to give Hogwarts some teeth in the political arena. What they had done was to decree to their families that were any of the houses of the founders to fall dormant, then while the assets and monies would be frozen according to normal procedure, the votes in the Wizengamot and the Council of fifteen would be for the Headmaster of Hogwarts to control.

He couldn't make any permanent decisions like signing over the seats, but he would vote on them as if they were his own.

The Thirty-six votes counted for more than ten percent of the whole Wizengamot, and had been a crucial part of the powerbase that kept Albus on the Chief Warlock's chair. With half of them gone, his very political existence was in serious danger, and that was without taking into account the fact that with the houses of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw still dormant, it meant that the two houses that were awake could, if they chose, take full control of Hogwarts on a whim.

Once again, had they been in separate hands, there could have been hope of driving a wedge between the two Lords, keeping Albus secure as the compromise candidate.

As things were, Harry could destroy Albus on a whim, and Albus was very worried about it.

Another piece of news that had made a particularly deep impact on him was the identities of the partners of the new company. Names like Peverell and Black were not to take lightly, while even he wasn't immune to the stark terror that the Sharrs commanded simply by their reputation.

Albus suppressed a tremor as he thought back to what he knew about the eldritch houses of the world. There were thirteen, as he remembered.

Out of them, Britain had six, which was a major reason that Pax Britannica had continued uninterrupted in the magical world for the last millennium since Arthur and his legions had humbled Europe from end to end.

France had the house of Flamel; India had two; the Suryavansh and the Chandravansh. Persia was ruled by the Khans. Russia had had the house of Romanov, which had gone dormant in the early days of the current century, resulting in a civil war that still raged uninterrupted. And then there were the clans of Xiong and Uzumaki dominating the Far East.

And none of them liked Albus even slightly. He might've been able to keep his deterioration hidden from the magical people of Britain, but the world at large had no illusions of his ability.

Yes, Albus was a very worried man, and a large part of it was thanks to the fact that four eldritch houses were now closely allied on his very doorstep.

That had been one of the main reasons why he'd restrained from acting, along with the fact that he'd been mind-numbingly busy with the ICW, the triwizard tournament, and the numerous other issues that came up as a result of holding the positions that he did.

At the current point of time, even discounting the boy's allies, going against Harry Potter meant going against the Lord of an Ancient and Noble house and two Eldritch houses. There were very few people in the world that could survive doing that. Albus's one hope, that Harry was a naive and inexperienced child and could thus be controlled, had been quickly dashed as he observed the decisions that the boy made.

Harry's actions were not as they'd always been, of an immature brat floundering out of his depths, but those of a seasoned politician and businessman. Albus had a few theories as to how the change had been made, and all of them smacked of evil magic like time or mind manipulation.

This time Albus did shudder as he thought of the terrible evil that magic was capable of. The things that he'd learned in his younger days, being fully intended to use them, actually.

The things like necromancy, Parseltongue, Blood magic, Elemental arts, war magics, all of them were abominations that had been allowed to survive too long. They were nasty acts, and Albus had, when he came back to the light after his days in the thrall of Gellert, sworn an oath to eradicate all traces of them and their worshippers from the Earth. That was also the reason why he'd continued the previous headmasters' work to throw out those subjects from the Hogwarts curriculum, why he'd played such a crucial role in prohibiting extended contact between wizards and other magical beings like Veela and Lamia.

He had also ignored it when Binns died, allowing his ghost to teach.

After all, a more competent and knowledgeable History of Magic teacher would give even more credibility to the purebloods' cause. The magical world was over two hundred million years old. And allowing them to learn of the civilizations like Algaesia, Middle-Earth and Westeros that had been the everyday examples of magical power, openly using all sorts evil arts, before Muggles had even finished coming down from their trees could be quite unnecessarily overwhelming to the poor Muggleborns.

Once again, Albus forced his mind to come to the present. He'd heard some disturbing rumours about the ministry today, about Damien Peverell popping all over the ministry securing support for something. Albus's spies had been able to find out much more, as everyone involved had been bound in secrecy oaths. But the people contacted gave rise to a possibility, and it was rather worrying. After all, Albus did remember the traditional place-name held by the Peverells. That, in addition to the fact that the Chief Warden had been visited along with Fudge, well, Albus could only hope he was wrong.

He may be Chief Warlock, but he had no power to interfere in matters concerning the ministry and one of the most important members of the House of Lords.

Unfortunately for Albus, the news next day would prove him accurate in what he feared.

**AZKABAN TO RETURN TO PRIVATE CONTROL!**

Ran the headline of the Daily Prophet the next day

_In a surprising turn of events, it was announced yesterday by the ministry that Cair Azkaban__, which houses the Castle Azkaban, the main prison of wizarding Britain was to return to private hands. Highly placed sources in the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot confirmed that the island fortress would soon be operating independent of ministry control. According to an official who wished to remain unnamed, the man soon to be responsible for watching over the worst of our society is the hereditary duke of Azkaban._

_It was announced by the ministry spokes-wizard that the formal transfer of power would take place on the night of Samhain. It was confirmed that His Grace has agreed to work closely with the ministry, and he will be appointed the new Chief Warden of Azkaban as part of the handover ceremony. _

_As readers may or may not be aware, the island fortress is in fact the ancient Ancestral seat of the much celebrated Peverell family, also known as the creators of the guards of Azkaban, the terrible dementors, along with some of our most famous and commonly used pieces of magic._

_Also, The Duke is a heavy investor in Althric Inc., the recent enterprise launched by our very own beloved saviour, the boy who lived__._

_Further investigations reveal that The __Duke has very recently taken control of his inheritance, having been previously travelling abroad, studying the intricacies of old magic._

_For more details on the Peverell family, page 3  
For more details on the dementors, page 5  
For more details on the current prisoners, page 9  
_

Aaand, that's a wrap.

Once again, sorry for the delay, but real life conquers all, I'm afraid. I'm putting this up when I should be busy with Physics, and the gods of Michelson, Morley and Maxwell are not going to be kind to me at all.

Any reviews, suggestions, criticisms, please express with a review/PM.


	11. Chapter 11

Well, well, well. Look whose here with an update at long last.

My exams are finally over, and I didn't do too badly at them, so the updates are going to be faster, and longer too, hopefully.

Without further ado, Ladies, gentlemen and Hermaphrodites, I give you the final chapter of  
Arc 1: The Summer of Change.

This also serves as the first chapter of

Arc 2: Some cool phrase that has Hogwarts in it.

**29****th**** August 1994  
Casa De Sharr  
Unplottable Location**

Harry Potter was bored. Just an hour ago, he'd left the time acceleration field, where he'd been practicing magic hard, in order to get it back under control after bonding to a ley line. The process had freed his core of the various blocks that had been placed upon it by Dumbledore, which had enabled him to spend quite a bit of time mastering all sorts of ancient and arcane magic. He wasn't done, not by a long, long margin, but he now had a firm grounding.

Another thing he'd practised were the various physical arts like martial arts and training that he'd stolen from all sorts of experts around the globe.

A couple of potions here, a small blood magic ritual there, and Harry had done in weeks what Muggles spent decades practicing.

Magic really was the most powerful force in existence.

And that brought him to a rather lengthy tangent.

Namely, the hypocrisy that a Muggleborn witch or wizard was capable of.

Harry had, for the longest period of time, believed that Muggles were an actual consideration in a wizard's everyday life. With the things that Granger had been screaming all through his Hogwarts carrier, Harry had even begun to believe that Muggles could be superior to wizards.

He was far from the only one to think so, as almost every Muggleborn was fond of screaming about how wizards were lazy, how they lacked common sense, how they wouldn't last a day if the Muggles found out about them, how wizardkind was stuck in the past, et al.

They made fun of wizarding traditions, called the magical world a stuck-up, backward place. They disrespected anything and everything around them, and _then_ they had the nerve to cry out when they got the same from the wizards.

They discriminated among themselves on all bases; caste, colour, country, religion, just about anything and everything one could think of. Harry remembered from Tom's memories that the white Muggleborns had been particularly odious in his time, going on and on about how the 'niggers' and 'wogs' were allowed to attend Hogwarts freely.

The Muggleborns were single-handedly responsible for the creature prosecution that was currently prevalent in the world. They were the ones who had 'educated' their wizard-bred friends about the danger of associating with the 'freaks'.

Then when the discrimination turned towards _them_, they were again quick to whine, calling the magical world stuck in the past.

The latest trend was about how the wizards could never stand against the great Muggle armies, if the truth ever became known. That one, when Harry had thought a bit on it, had him laughing despite his Occlumency.

The Muggles were many, yes, but Harry knew that the sheer number of ways by which a properly trained group of wizards could go out, exterminate Muggle-kind, and still be back in time for dinner was so vast that it wasn't even funny.

If Harry were to choose to kill a few million Muggles, then what would it take?

Five seconds to Apparate to the heart of, say, Los Angeles.

Then, a wave of his wand to transfigure every particle of air in the city into carbon monoxide, followed by an apparition out of the city. With gas to gas transfiguration being as easy as it was, even the vast amount would, at best, leave him breathless for a few seconds.

Granted, the spell itself required at least a passing familiarity with atomic structures and some minor alchemical talent, but a properly trained group of wizards would have those, wouldn't they?

If he felt like it, he could even stop and setup something to keep all the air in.

Or if he didn't want to do that, he could simply walk around, turning concrete into talcum powder. _That _would be a sight to see, wouldn't it?

Harry chuckled. There had been some particularly moronic Muggleborns stupid enough to call transfiguration parlour tricks, but that was just another example.

After all, there was a reason why the families like the Flamels and the Potters were feared without ever having been particularly interested in any of the traditionally 'dark' arts.

Coming back to the point, Harry had pondered this for a long time while in the acceleration chamber;andchamber; and his resolve had only been strengthened. Muggles were a problem that would need to be taken care of, while the Muggleborns would have to be assimilated into their entirety into the magical world.

That was why he was currently holding the copy of _Malleus Maleficarum__: A Muggle's opinion of the Magical world. _He had spent quite a bit of time changing the book's terminology to suit the current century.

He smiled slightly as he thought of the ruckus its release would cause. He could practically _smell_ public opinion turning against those without magic, even as Dumbledore and his ilk ran around like the headless chicken they were. There would, of course, be repercussions, some of them even against Harry.

But there wasn't anything anyone could hope to do against 'd been careful so that none of it was outright lies, and the magical people weren't ones to care all that much for trivialities.

There was a huge array of legislation that he needed to get passed, and this book, once it was released by Althric Chroniclers, would be nothing short of priceless.

It would come as a precursor to a series of articles in the Daily Prophet detailing the exact death tolls that the Muggles caused wherever they went bringing their version of 'civilization', not to mention the war after war they were so fond of fighting.

Harry had, after great effort, managed to acquire a significant shareholding in the Daily Prophet, enough to dictate policy, especially as the policy coincided with the opinions of the other major shareholders.

Harry had just sent the book off with an owl to the presses when his ring alerted him to something. Closing his eyes, he focused on the connection, traversing through the week's events till he realized just what it was. The nexus he'd activated so many days ago had completed its work.

His AI was ready.

Apparating straight to the chamber where he'd left the computers working, Harry gave the mental command for the final step to begin.

Immediately, the runes glowed, before starting to fade away, even as the central crystal of the nexus star glowed brighter and brighter.

Harry knew what was happening. The millions upon millions of lines of program code that comprised the AI were being converted into magical commands, the digital nature of them being replaced by Harry's own magic.

Soon, it was over. The star descended to float at the level of Harry's waist, and he reached out and plucked the central crystal from its setting.

Turning around, Harry Apparated to the Peverell Hall where he'd left the computer itself after converting it in its entirety to a magical nexus. It was ready, as it had been for the last several days. The power was connected, the runes were ready, and they glowed with a steady hum as Harry gave the activation command.

The front panel opened to reveal a socket just like what had been there in the construction nexus, and Harry placed the crystal inside it, the panel closing moments later.

Then, the real noises started. The whole machine whistled, hummed, vibrated, different parts glowing in different colours, till the screen lit up with the face of one of those Muggle actresses that he'd saved in the databanks.

"Hello, Harry." It said.

"Hi, Selene" he answered.

_He is a confirmed ally to both HarryPotter and Damien Peverell, with suspected ties to Aries Black. The exact actions, if any, that have been taken by him in recent times are unknown, but keeping in account the sheer range of magic that his family is permitted to do, the threat level has been raised accordingly._

_Also, it is now confirmed that he is the uncle of HarryPotter through his sister, and had already designated the boy his heir._

_Yours_

_Alastor Moody_

Dumbledore sighed as he closed the dossier on Erebus Sharr. It was the thinnest of the three dossiers sitting currently on his desk, and he didn't know just what to make of the new developments that had occurred this summer.

Four dead families being resurrected, innumerable plans destroyed, he himself having been placed in a tenuous position, Azkaban returning to the Peverells, a new company having risen and growing at a dangerous pace, the list went on.

There had been a lot of changes this summer, and Albus didn't like any one of them. Unfortunately, strategy had never been one of his strengths, and he didn't have even the slightest idea of what to do.

Worst of all were the rumours about Bertha Jorkins, the missing staffer from the Games Department The last location Albus's spies had been able to place her at was dangerously close to Albania, where he knew Voldemort to be hidden.

The last thing Albus needed was Voldemort returning on top of the mess that was already going on. Voldemort would have to return one day, yes, but that day would have to be delayed as long as possible while he got Harry under control. Or barring that, at least got some sort of alliance with the boy.

Albus had been revising his plans for Harry for the last several days. With him having claimed his lordships and inheritances, Harry would be very difficult to control.

Difficult, as in completely impossible

So, Albus's best bet then lay in brokering some sort of alliance with the boy, to get him to forgive Albus for the crimes he'd no doubt discovered by now. After all, it wasn't as if he could have found out about the blocks on his magic, or his core. The Potters had never possessed particularly strong mind magic abilities, and this Potter should be no exception.

As far as the Slytherins were concerned, he had won it by right of conquest, and that didn't give any abilities.

Or so he thought.

Anyway, Dumbledore was confident he would be able to secure at least an alliance with Harry, for the coming war with Voldemort, whenever it came.

Dumbledore sighed as he pulled out his wand, giving it a casual flick. The simple action accomplished three things. First, it summoned a small portable fire, one of those developed in ancient Kashmir, along with a small pot of Floo powder.

Secondly, it activated the floating runes on the undersides of both vessels, and thirdly, it ignited the fire in the _angithi_.

He had a few calls to make.

Harry was busy.

He had spent the last several hours fitting out numerous contraptions that he'd made for this day, and it was extremely important that the proper settings be done as soon as possible. He had to be at Hogwarts the very next day, and the sooner Selene took over running the things that he intended it to, the better it would be for Harry.

That was the reason he had invented scanners, capable of analysing massive amounts of information and converting it first in electronic signals and later in thought-essence.

These scanners had just now been fitted onto the Grimoires, Ledgers, Blackmail and favour records and selected parts of the Lords' Journals for the families that were Harry's.

Soon, they would be finished with the transcribing, making the system fully capable of performing the tasks that it was meant to. And Harry had quite a few things in mind for the AI. There were factories that would be controlled by her, potions brewed, not to mention several specific tasks that required levels of precision that a human simply wasn't able to provide.

The single most important such operation was the production of magical crystals.

Magical crystals were among the most precious items in the world. They were gems that grew in a myriad of densely magical environments, and developed magic of their own.

Despite the huge range of different powers that they could have, one thing that could always be done with them was to store vast amounts of magic. A small ring-stone could contain enough magic to move mountains, and still not be full.

For this reason, they were extremely useful in wards, artefacts and amulets of all kinds.

The problem with them had been that they grew in extremely precise environments, meaning that artificial production was downright impossible.

Many a wizard had gone bankrupt without harvesting a single crystal, to the point that the rest were left too cowed to try.

For wizards, it was like going into space. They had the technology and abilities to do it easily enough, but the practical application was always derailed by one thing or the other.

Indeed, Harry had been surprised by the specifications himself. One speck of dust out of place, one iota of magic too much, and the whole apparatus could blow up in his face.

That was why Harry, after giving the procedures a thorough look-over, had decided that it was a task best tackled by something that was meant to work with supernatural precision. That is, a computer.

So with Selene now online, one of her first functions would be to start the functioning of the crystal reserves, among the other factories and farms.

Seeing as Harry wasn't a complete moron, he wouldn't be handing over control of _all _his assets to the computer, but nonetheless, a large number of his vassals could now be devoted solely to an army.

Apart from that, there were the preparations for the more explosive artworks that Phoenix Auctioneers were suddenly going to 'discover', along with numerous other odds and ends to complete before Harry went to Hogwarts.

Speaking of vassals, Harry had to arrange the distribution of the wands that had arrived, and then start the men and women on their training inside the acceleration fields.

So much to do, so little time…

Soon, the day was past.

As August ended and Hogwarts neared, Harry permitted himself a small smile. He was going back to Hogwarts.

He imagined thatin the days to come, many would ask just why he was doing this. Why bother with Hogwarts, when he had far better opportunities outside it?

Why shackle himself, bound to the place?

The answer, as always, was power.

Hogwarts was going to be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year. Harry intended to take part, and not just that, he intended to _win_.

The reasons behind that were manifold.

Harry was one of the wealthiest wizards alive. He was also one of the most powerful.

Barely on the second sound, but true nonetheless.

These were things that were useful only in the public domain.

People needed to know that he was there. They needed to see his wealth, his power, his decision making abilities, if they were going to acknowledge him as a leader.

It wasn't like the world of Muggles, where money and political power were enough.

In the magical world, one wizard could be weak, barely able to do even the simplest of spells, for examples Ronald Weasley or Peter Pettigrew.

Or, they could be gods. Merlin, Slytherin, Voldemort, and Dumbledore were examples of this.

In a world where men could be both near-gods and insects, personal, magical power in huge quantities was vital for any real leader. It was one of the reasons why the Fudge administration was mocked so openly by the old families. There wasn't a decent wizard among all of Fudge's cronies, and therefore no one who could be seen as the 'great' one.

The title of the most powerful wizard of the age was secure in Dumbledore's hands, but not for long if Harry had anything to say about it. He knew, just as he was sure Dumbledore himself knew, that Dumbledore was an old husk of a wizard. As powerful as the man was, he wouldn't be seeing the twenty-first century.

Of course, what made the whole thing complicated was the fact that a lot of other people knew it too. The fact was that an extremely powerful figure was needed, to be the leader of the British people. As Dumbledore's time was long past, the worry in the minds of the 'Light' was that the next would inevitably be Lord Voldemort.

It was an obvious thing, really.

Ignorant though the average British wizard nowadays was, everyone knew just what awaited them beyond their borders. The guilds, the demon hunters, the Conclave of Hundred Families, the ICW, they were all salivating, eager to at last take the pounds of flesh they all believed were owed to them for Britain's reign over the last millennium.

The basic reasons for this were the Merlinian Accords.

Almost nineteen hundred years ago, the world had been a very different place. Rome had just fallen, and the new star on the rise was one of a small island on the north-western corner of Europe. This had been known, as so many things were, by those who knew how to read the patterns of magic.

The processes and the studies were long and tedious, but it all boiled down to a few simple facts.

As every half-decent wizard knew (which explained why most of the wizarding world of today didn't), all magic in the Earth was regulated in the form of ley lines. _Over_ the Earth was similar, although the amounts were slightly more diffused, owing largely to the movement of people or beings.

But the fact was, there were roughly Forty-two primary ley lines. These were not fixed at their spots, and therein was the crux of the matter.

The primary ley lines of the Earth tended to shift and move, according to what several believed was the will of magic herself. The shifting took place at completely random intervals (which was a major argument in favour of the 'magic's will' theorists).

The shifting patterns, too, were completely random.

What wasn't random was the fact that with every shift, several leylines connected and formed clusters, while previous clusters dissolved.

Another thing that wasn't random was that every shift invariably led to the rise of a world empire. The longevity of the empire along with its panache, were both directly proportional to the size of the clusters that formed within its domain.

It was an obvious and fully explainable thing, of course. Formation of leyline clusters meant that the core sizes and abilities of the people born in the area skyrocketed.

The average number of wizards rose as the fertility of the witches were more Elementals, more Metamorphmagi, more Necromancers and Blood Mages. The average core sizes and levels of talent increased by factors of ten, as did therefore their longevity and power.

All of these things inevitably resulted in a desire to see their enemies fall before them, meaning the rise of an empire.

This was what had happened. The lines had shifted, and the cluster of nine lines that had existed in Italy was no more. Instead, ten lines had connected in Britain.

Naturally, the first to realize this were the families. They rushed to the country where the tribes were just beginning to enjoy the first benefits, preparing for the wars that would inevitablybeinevitably be coming.

And come they did.

Almost seventy families had come to the island, all in a hurry.

When the dust settled, The Sharrs had three lines, the Gryffindors two, with similar distributions secured among the rest for the five lines. By then, no one cared, because the thing that had everyone shocked and awed was that no less than two Primary Lines and twenty secondary ones were controlled by a minor family, not even ancient and noble.

Oh, the lineage of the Lord was excellent, tracing direct relation to no less than three Eldritch Houses and five Ancient and Noble ones, but the family itself was minor.

Its name? It was Pendragon.

After that, it was endless war. Family raged against family to get at those precious keystones, and the Thames ran crimson a thousand times over.

Then something no one could predict happened.

The Pendragons had secured the support of another minor house, one which controlled no less than a full dozen secondary lines.

Its name was Emrys.

After that, it was almost easy for the young warlord called Uther.

He started a brutal campaign of conquest, meeting and felling family after family. He didn't dare go after the Greater houses for a long time, but when he did, it was with a force that surpassed all their imaginations.

What was and remains the most important thing was that not only did Uther have a huge army and a near limitless amount of raw power from his lines, his personal power was gigantic.

Not that the other warlords were slouches; far from it, but Uther Pendragon could only be considered a god by today's standards.

The other lords were powerful, but they were not Uther Pendragon.

A bloody war ensued for a long time after that, but in time, it became evident that no clear end was in sight. Both sides were too evenly matched, with the Eldritch and Great families having their Incredibly Esoteric Arts, and Uther and his followers with their raw power.

Many died, but eventually, a meeting was called.

They all conferred, and the decision was reached that they would all bend their knees, subject to certain conditions.

No houses would be made extinct under any conditions. All of the Great families would maintain semi-autonomy, in addition to the Eldritch Families being acknowledged as perpetual Royal Houses.

To make it proper, Uther fathered six daughters, wedding them all to the heirs of the families.

Similarly, each of the Ancient and Noble houses would be named Nobles of the highest ranks, although their titles differed.

This was the reason why the house of Black, despite only being a Baronetcy, outranked quite a few Earldoms and Counties.

Still, what mattered more was that peace had finally come to England. This, quite obviously, meant that the time had come for the rest of the world to be very, very afraid for what the future would bring.

As it was, it didn't bring nice things for them.

The campaign that was launched was long, bloody and brutal. For nearly a full century, nation after nation crumbled before the armies of Avalon.

And what armies they were!

The undead scourges, brought by the unholy trinity of Betelgeuse the Black, Nathaniel the Bone master and Dreadlord Kharaidon Peverell, the demons armies of nevernever, summoned by Timonzel Sharr the Stormbringer (titled so after another of his abilities), the hundreds of reptiles, of all sizes and powers, commanded by Hasturus Slytherin, the elemental legions, led by Ajihad Gryffindor.

These were but a fraction of the true might that was brought to bear by the families of Brittania, the might that crushed and humiliated all that lay in sight.

The only exception was Asia, but that is a story for another time.

By the time Uther succumbed to extreme old age, he had not just established one of the greatest empires on Earth, but also secured its future, in the form of his loyal protégé the new lord of House Emrys, a lad called Myriddin. He too, had a huge magical core, and had been trained to be able to use it extremely effectively.

Soon, Uther's favourite son, Arthur ascended to the throne. He too, proved soon to be cut from the same cloth as his father, actually surpassing him in quite a few fields.

But the utopia ended, when Arthur died childless.

Had he not, it was almost certain that the history of the world would have been different. But he did, and it meant the return of the wars that had ravaged the land such a short time ago.

Had it not been for the Warlocks of the Round Table, the nation would doubtless have been doomed in its infancy. Even with them, large portions of the empire seceded, forming nations that today had names like France, Spain and Italy.

But the Camelotians weren't left broken by any estimate.

They may have lost the conquered ley lines, but the home cluster of ten was still theirs. As the Wizengamot formed the first semi-democracy of the world, armies again marched from Avalon. It wasn't easy, but the erstwhile rulers had learned their lessons.

They came not to conquer, but to take and destroy.

Europe burned.

At long last, the time came when the armies felt tired. They retreated to the island, but they left it to Myriddin Emrys, now called Merlin, to form a set of treaties that would keep Britain as the unquestioned leader of the world for the foreseeable future.

These were the Merlinian accords, and they made the Treaty of Versailles look like a rather fair deal.

Still, what all this meant in today's time was that the British people, despite being almost wholly unaware of the details, all realized that the rest of the world hated and feared them equally.

This meant that the most vital thing for them, at all times, was the presence at the helm of the nation, of a wizard so powerful, so terrifying, that the rest of the world remembered, and the fear in their minds remained stronger than the hatred.

Currently the role was filled by Dumbledore, and the reason why the Wizengamot and the ministry were knee deep in worry was that the only possible replacement appeared to be Voldemort. This was why, were Dumbledore to die, the nation would quietly accept Voldemort as its new ruler.

Only, the more intelligent people realized that this was not just worryingbutworrying but also the recipe for unmitigated disaster.

Voldemort was powerful enough, certainly. The problem was that he was also a confirmed lunatic, liable to destroy the nation as soon as he got his hands on it.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been one of the most powerful and intelligent wizards ever to be . Lord Voldemort was a slobbering maniac. Where Tom Riddle could have been a capable Dictator, Voldemort could only ever be a Devastator.

Therefore, what Harry needed to do was to establish himself as a suitable (in fact, the only suitable) successor to Dumbledore as the meanest motherfucker of them all, and therefore the de facto ruler of Britain.

The fact that Harry's plans included quite a bit more than Britain was just a happy coincidence.

With that sort of target, it made his current status look positively paltry in comparison.

He had achieved mastery level skills in all of the wanded subjects. This, while impressive, was nothing a lot others hadn't done before. Then he was among the best Mind Mages alive. This_ was_ a real accomplishment, but could only be considered a beginner's step.

Harry's greatest hope was not in the things that he already had mastered, but in those pieces of magic that he was going to now learn.

The arcane magic, the untamed arts, these were the names given to the _really_ powerful magic, ones like Necromancy, Summoning, Invocation, Dimensional magic, and Time magic, to name but a few.

What had been rather surprising for him then, and was the way to Archmagus level power for him now, was the fact that Harry had extremely powerful affinities for each and every one of these fields. In a circumstance where having one affinity was extremely rare, the number of branches of magic that Harry could access was nothing short of unbelievable.

In addition to being incredibly surprising, it was also suspicious.

Harry had never been arrogant enough to simply take such an array of abilities for granted, and had quite a bit of time investigating.

He hadn't gotten any conclusive results, but a probable cause had been identified in the form of the chaos magic that tainted the core of every Sharr.

Still, what mattered more was that Harry had the talents, and he needed to develop them into a proper set of skills that would rank him among the most powerful wizards of the age.

Lord Voldemort was displeased.

He was also a homunculus the size of a baby, but that was a different matter.

He was hidden right now in Crouch Manor, having freed his loyal servant from the grasp of his father. The same loyal servant that had this morning gone to put the first stage of their plan in place, by replacing Alastor Moody as he went to Hogwarts.

Voldemort's displeasure stemmed from the fact that even after considerable wracking of hismindhis mind, he was unable to decide on what to do with Damien Peverell, who would soon be controlling the fate of several of hismosthis most loyal servants.

The Dark LordhadLord had been most unpleasantly surprised when he read the Daily Prophet report about Azkaban returning to the control of the Peverell family. Not only did it put a wrench in his plans to eventually liberate his Death Eaters, it also meant that hisdayshis days of controlling the dementors were now over.

Unless, of course, Damien Peverell could be made a Death Eater. But that was a near-impossible thing.

Families like the Yaxleys, Malfoys and Notts were one thing. They, while powerful, were all in awe of the House of Slytherin, and Voldemort's claim as heir of Slytherin, as well as being a Parselmouth, hadand had been enough to ensure that his raw power could work its magic.

Subduing a Peverell was a wholly different matter. Voldemort didn't doubt that he was more powerful than the young Lord. He was, after all, the most powerful wizard to have ever lived. No, the tricky part was to make the Dreadlord acknowledge it. From what Voldemort understood, he would die in battle, but would not submit to someone he saw as an equal, if not inferior.

The alliance that Peverell had with Potter wasn't something to be worried about all that much. Voldemort had broken alliances before. Nor, for that matter, was the fact that Potter was the reigning Lord Slytherin worth any particular consideration. After all, it wasn't as if a filthy little half-blood would be able to make use of the knowledge or the magic.

Voldemort would kill him soon enough, and retake his Lordship.

No, far more worrying was Peverell's control over Azkaban.

Attacking and taking a ministry-held prison was one thing, invading the stronghold of a family like Peverell, wascompletelywas completely different.

And that was without taking Erebus Sharr into account. Even where he was, Voldemort had managed to get at the whispers that echoed throughout the wizarding world, of the alliance between Sharr and Peverell.

And like most of the people, he feared the possibilities.

Voldemort suppressed a shudder as his mind was revisited by the knowledge he held of the Sharrs. The Nightmare Brigades that came to their enemies in the night, the demons of realms far away, ravaging and destroying all that lay before them, the fire and brimstone that rained from the heavens, they were all reasons why it was so that while the Eldritch Families were all to be feared and respected, no one_ ever _argued with the Sharr.

There was, after all, a reason why, whenever the magicals saw any truly devastating storms, the first thought to come to the mind was always that the Sharrs were angry.

Still, there had to be a way ... Some method that the fools that called themselves Death Eaters had missed, some piece of information that would let Voldemort's magnificence surpass and overpower his rivals.

Hours passed, and August changed into September, as Voldemort plotted away.

Sorry, sorry. I know I'm late.

What can I say. I'd just finished the theory exams, when the practicals descended on my head.

But I'm all done now, and you can expect faster chapters.

As always, review/PM for anything.

Btw, would any of you mind being a beta? There are parts of this I struggle with, and some help would be much appreciated.

Ciao

blackshadow111


	12. Chapter 12

Hello my minions!

Er… I mean readers!

Hello my readers!

Here I am with yet another chapter of the best story in the world. (Yeah I like to brag so sue me). Now, consummate readers will find influence here from many stories that happen to be my favourite works. So, once again, remember that anything you recognize, I don't own.

And this chapter has loads and loads of dialogues and character interaction, just to make up for so many fillers that have preceded it. So, here we go.

**1 September 1994  
Slytherin Manor  
Unplottable Location**

"Selene, give me a final estimate on the projected timeframe before I can expect required levels of efficiency from the vassals."

"Calculating … calculation completed ... Since all the wands and lozenges have been distributed, and the scheduling for the rotations that they will take through the time chambers has been decided, you can expect total competency from the population in… Four months of normal time, Harry. For the first batch, you can expect it in three weeks at the most."

Damn. Damn and blast. This was what he'd been afraid of. Four months, while an extraordinarily short amount of time for training up a population the size he controlled, was still too long for his liking. Well, if he couldn't change it, it'd have to do, unless….

Harry's brows furrowed, as a possibility suggested itself.

Well, might as well test it.

"Selene. Access the arcane magic section from the database. Specifically, the file name 'highest training'."

"Done, Harry," The AI's voice had a questioning tone in it.

"Now assimilate the package properly with the current package that had been given to them, and give me a projection of how long it may take."

"Calculating … Calculation complete … Time estimate; ten months,"

Harry shrugged. He'd expected as much. It wasn't what he had in mind, though.

"Ok, now bring the file up on the screen."

As soon as he saw it, Harry started changing the hologram. Adding pieces here, discarding others there, till he had a final result that he separated into two parts.

"Alright, now assimilate Pack 1, and give me an estimate."

"Memory enhancer blood rituals added, redundant spells removed, new time estimate is ... two and a half months."

"Excellent. Download this straight into the lozenges. Use the rootcode."

"Completed," Came Selene's voice.

"Good. This should help things along quite nicely." Harry said, satisfied for now.

"Now, anything that's coming up urgently?"

"Malfoy responded to the letter. You're invited to the Samhain ball at Wiltshire. Apart from that, the production of crystals is online, and full data analysis of the Sharr family records completed just five minutes ago."

"Good, that was the last, yes?" Harry asked.

"Yes. And furthermore, I have analysed the ranged data scanners you designed for me. Fabrication is currently on hold due to lack of materials, but I can start it as soon as I get some adequate storage options."

"Just start it once the first batch of crystals is done. And that reminds me, transport one of the single scanners here. Once I'm at Hogwarts I want to connect you to the Chamber allbook."

"Understood and acknowledged"

Harry smiled. Things really had become easier with Selene. He would have to be careful that he didn't overdo it, as any fall in his own abilities could not be tolerated under any circumstances, but it was nice nonetheless.

That reminded him. He pulled out his new magical phone, dialling a particular number.

"Hello, Charles. Can you talk right now?" Harry asked the Chief Registrar for Proscribed Charmable objects.

He'd issued every one of his allies with a phone right away, although the official release was still a week away. It was just common sense, as it gave him a secure mode of communication as well as easy advertising.

"Yes, Harry. I'm at home right now, actually. Did you need something?" the man asked.

"Yeah, how goes the carpet legalization? I really do need them lifted from the list soon, Charles. Bashir isn't going to wait forever."

"I know, but the resistance is tough. Nimbus owns five members of the registry, and that makes it incredibly difficult to do things in a registry of eighteen, even though you did get Aries Black to support us with the Comet faction. I'm trying, but it's going to take time."

"Right, I understand. Hurry, though." Harry said, before disconnecting.

That was how the rest of the day went, calling up people, visiting others, just tying up the loose ends so he could focus on Hogwarts in the coming days.

Before Harry knew it, the time came when the Hogwarts Express would be rolling into Hogsmeade station.

Sure enough, there it was, he thought, as he Apparated into the village with nary a sound, trunk shrunken safely in pocket.

He paused for a second, before conjuring an umbrella with a thought. With another, he made it float, vanishing the stick. The rain really was rather awful, pouring by the bucket loads.

Spotting the carriages, Harry walked over to one, setting himself comfortably. As his attention went to what was pulling it, Harry decided to test something.

Channelling to the power of death as a genuine Peverell necromancer, he focused on the Thestral tethered to his carriage, willing it to understand him.

As soon as he was sure it would, he whispered one word.

'_Run'_.

Witnesses would later all concur that the speed of the carriage had been the fastest in Hogwarts history, going well over , when asked, would say that it ended too soon.

Still, in a few minutes, Harry entered the Castle that was akin to home for him. Moving at a quick pace, within moments he was sitting at the Gryffindor table.

Looking around, Harry saw that the hall was just beginning to fill. His eyes caught Neville at the door, coming in with the usual nervous look on his face. Catching his eyes, Harry gestured to him to come to him.

As Neville walked closer, Harry tried sensing his aura. It had a nice, soil-like feel, denoting Earth magic, rather potent at that. Getting a hunch, Harry focused on the boy, whispering one of the scanning spells he had learned from that ancestor of his who'd been a diviner. The results came up in his mind, and it was confirmed. Neville Longbottom possessed potent Earth-magic, quite possibly Druid-level.

This…. was bad. It was very, very bad. Had this appeared five years from today, Neville could have been a useful subordinate. Right now, he had the potential to be a rival, a bad one at that.

That was unacceptable.

Harry was wondering about the new threat, when his attention focused better on the exact nature of the boy's affinity. It was completely untrained. How could that be, when he came from the Longbottoms, a family every bit as old and great as the Potters or the Blacks?

Unless… the scans Harry used were different from usual ones. They predated most binding techniques, and measured out the exact strengths of a person's gifts bypassing any blocks or shackles. Usually that was a good thing, but Harry believed he had found one of the disadvantages.

With a small gesture of his finger, Harry cast another spell at the boy, now barely a few meters from him. It was a detection spell specially used to check for bindings on magical cores or abilities.

Sure enough, they showed up. In addition to a block on his Earth magic abilities, Neville had several on his core, reducing it to about forty percent to what it should be.

Yet another spell to show the full range of anomalies showed a small but deep amount of damage to the core that _was_ available to the boy, along with a small leftover remnant of an extremely old Cruciatus and an Obliviate gone wrong.

Had Harry been capable of emotion, he might have pitied Neville. The boy's handicaps were almost as bad as what Harry himself had suffered under; only Neville had succumbed to them. It was obvious, really, and went back to magical cores. A magical core was basically a collection of raw magic, albeit more refined than what was found naturally in the ley lines and the air around them.

In the cores, the magic was oriented in the particular direction that the person's talents bent it into. Harry, for all his talent in every single branch of magic, was a Warrior born and bred (even if the breeding part was done very inadvertently). This was one of the reasons for his power, as it meant that all his life his core had fought against the bindings that were upon it. It had fought, and the magic, unable to grow in size, had grown instead in potency.

Currently, in terms of size, Harry had a core the size that by all accounts, he should have possessed at sixty years of age. In terms of potency, however, he possessed magic that was dense enough that he could do with a few iotas of magic what others would require thousands to do.

How this connected to Neville was that his magic, being oriented towards Earth, was highly passive in nature. It had never fought against its bindings, instead bent with them. The problem was that there was a certain point to which Earth could be bent. After that, something would have to give. Harry, now that he was aware, would have to decide what he wanted that 'something' to be.

Anyway, all this had passed through his mind in the span of barely a few seconds. Now Neville was standing in front of him, and Harry had to ensure that he developed no suspicions.

"Hello, Neville. How was your summer?" Harry asked, sticking sincere smile #37 on his face.

"It was nice, Harry. Gran didn't let me go to the world cup, said it was a waste of money. I had loads of fun in my greenhouses, though." The boy replied.

"Oh, nice for you, then. Anything else you did, mate?" Harry asked. They continued in the vein for a few minutes, before breaking off. He needed to get Neville to open up to him, and it was a process that would have to be moved along slowly. Rushing things would not do at all.

A sudden increase in the noise turned Harry's attention to the gaggle of students moving in now. Spotting some undesirable faces, he wove an enchantment around himself, a notice me not charm, keyed to act only on the Weasleys and Granger.

His peace of mind guaranteed, Harry focused on the students filling up the great hall. He spotted several children of his vassals, along with others, whose parents he knew from the ministry and the businesses. There was Urquhart, the Slytherin whose uncle was in the ministry. Boot, the son of one of Talbot's partners in his firm, James Warrington, of the Slytherin Quidditch team, who was Harry's vassal through the Blacks, Finch-Fletchley, one of the better Muggleborns, even though he was rather gullible, it went on.

Harry kept an eye on the students, attaching names to faces. Soon, even the last stragglers had come into the hall, so Harry guessed there were about a few minutes or so before the Sorting began.

As he started to feel the first pangs of hunger, Harry's eyes fell back on the Ravenclaw table. There was something strange there, and it took him a few minutes to work out what. Luna Lovegood, the daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood and his vassal through the Sharrs.

Harry remembered that had been a major catch that Aurelius Sharr had managed, as the Lovegoods were one of the last remaining lines that came directly from Ravenclaw herself.

Harry narrowed his eyes, as he focused on the girl. What was strange was that she was sitting far from her year mates, among a sea of second years, when he knew she should be in third year. Not that there was any rule against sitting with younger years, it was just something very few liked to do.

Now it was a matter of working out why. It could be that she liked it, but if she didn't, then something serious could be afoot.

He didn't try to go into her head, as it would be a rather stupid thing to do. The Lovegoods had always been a bit strange, what with the seer blood in their veins, and the high level chaos magic studies that they'd been doing since becoming Sharr vassals hadn't helped.

No, a far better target was Su Li, sitting thirteen places to her right. A tiny exertion of magic, and Harry was in her mind. Rifling gently through, Harry looked for memories related to Lovegood.

What he found incensed him. Harry had far too good control on his nerves to be really angry, but that didn't mean he liked what had been going on in Ravenclaw house for the last two years. Calling a girl 'Loony', stealing from her, leaving her locked out of the tower, all of this smacked of the same brand of bullying that worms like Dudley Dursley and Ronald Weasley were fond of. And Harry would be damned before he allowed it to continue.

He was a completely amoral person. He wouldn't hesitate in the slightest from inducing a systematic psychological destruction of a person if it turned out that he stood to gain anything from it. But bullying a twelve year old girl just for the hell of it? It couldn't be allowed to continue.

Harry had two choices: He could inform the staff, or he could deal with it himself. That was what he thought, before scratching the first option away as he remembered just where he was. Of course he was going to have to take care of it himself!

This was Hogwarts after all, the biggest collection of incompetents in the whole of magical Britain.

As his mind spiralled away on yet another lengthy tangent, Harry categorized the people who ran the place.

The headmaster was a man who had time for anything and everything except the wellbeing of his students. McGonagall amounted to what Granger would be fifty years from today; enough said.

Out of the three other administrators, one was a terrorist, whose greatest dream in life was to mentally torture children less than half his age.

Thankfully the junior staffers were much better, albeit with a couple exceptions. One of the major reasons why Harry was here at Hogwarts, apart from making useful connections and tie-ups, was to take care of the disastrous levels that standards were at currently. Hogwarts currently taught less than it had ever taught in history, and it was a state of affairs that would have to change, whether or not those currently entrenched in it liked it or not.

Harry suspected that Dumbledore would have to die before he could reinstate some of the older classes, but there was even then a considerable amount that could be done to improve the school.

This reminded him…

Raising a hand, Harry snapped his fingers.

Immediately, an elf appeared, bowing deep.

"How can Buttey serve master?" it said, head bobbing.

"Notify the headmaster that The Duke of Gryphonsworth and Parsellsia shall be visiting his office an hour from now to discuss a wide range of changes that are to take place in the school." Harry said.

"Buttey will. Anything else, master?"

"Yes. How long till dinner?"

"Till headmaster gives signal, master."

"Understood. You may go"

Harry watched the elf disappear and appear near Dumbledore. He saw as the man leaned down to hear what the elf had to say, his lips shaping into a smile as he saw a frown take shape on the fool's face. Harry knew that forcing changes at this time, with Dumbledore around to undermine them, was more than a little pointless, but he still had things that he could get done.

Harry's smile disappeared when he saw the vacant seats at the table. He knew for a fact that Alastor Moody was supposed to be starting today as the new DADA professor. So where the hell was he?

Harry was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of Colin Creevey's voice "Hiya Harry!"

"Hi, Colin. How are you?" Harry said.

He could see that the whelp was pretty excited, practically jumping in his seat.

"I'm fine Harry. Hey, guess what? My brother's starting Hogwarts! My brother Dennis!" he said excitedly.

"Really, that's nice. Do introduce him to me someday, will you mate? Oh and that reminds me, meet me in the common room today, I need to talk to you about something."

"OK, Harry, I will. You can count on me."

Harry chuckled. He didn't particularly like Creevey all that much, but the boy practically worshipped him. A little encouragement would go a long way with people like Creevey, to make sure that the fan-worship he had towards Harry turned into actual respect.

Harry turned his attention to the doors of the hall, as he heard them open.

And there they were; the students. Harry saw that there were quite a few of them here today, all nervous and excited just as he'd been all those years ago.

He allowed his conscious mind to wander as the sorting commenced after the hat's song, even as his eyes noticed the faces of the students, his subconscious seamlessly attaching them to the names that his ears heard.

His lips twitched as he heard Dennis Creevey's account of his fall and subsequent return. He knew that the giant squid was intelligent. He should, as it had been a Sharr who had raised the lesser Kraken from the oceans.

Soon, they were done, and the plates and goblets filled themselves with food and drink.

Looking at what was on offer, Harry wished, not for the first time, that the masses had been correct in what they believed. He still remembered when he'd had his illusions shattered about house elves.

_It had been all the way back in his first stay in the chamber of secrets. He'd been thinking out loud about the possibilities of setting up a house-elf spying force._

"_I mean, they can Apparate through all the wards, and they can take people with them…"_

_It was then that Slytherin had said "Excuse me? What did you just say, child?"_

"_I said that house elves can Apparate right through wards, can't they?" Harry said._

"_And what made you think that? I know that I certainly didn't." Slytherin said, apparently annoyed._

"_Well, I don't quite know. It just seemed that way, y'know."_

"_Honestly, boy. You are the most brilliant student I have ever taught, but the things you say sometimes… not to mention the way you say them"_

"_But they can Apparate within Hogwarts! I know that no human can do that! And I know that anti-apparition wards are useless at them!" Harry said defensively._

"_First of all, the only elves that can Apparate within Hogwarts' wards are the ones that have the permission of the controller of the wards, that is to say, the Headmaster. The same applies to any other set of wards. Secondly, anti-apparition wards crafted for _humans_ don't work for elves. There is a perfectly serviceable anti apparition ward meant for house elves that is applied for protection from them." The founder continued "But one thing I will say. This doesn't mean that your idea doesn't have merit. After all, the ward to keep house-elves out is known only to the older families. I believe that there has to be a copy in whatever library the ministry has, for use in their houses and the ministry itself, but anywhere else is unlikely in the extreme."_

"_So, that means that apart from the older families, and maybe the ministry employees, others should be vulnerable?"Harry asked._

"_It seems so. Inquiries will, of course, have to be made."_

What it meant for Harry right now was that he had to eat the food that was here, instead of the food that his own elves could prepare, and which he'd grown rather partial to.

It was a pity, but the matter was a small one.

Just then Harry's thoughts were interrupted by what seemed like nails being dragged across a sheet of glass. A moment later he realized it was Granger's voice. "You mean there are house elves _here_? Here at Hogwarts?"

And there it was, the mile long nose sticking itself into things that were no concern of its owner yet again. Harry shook his head slightly as he heard the girl start harping about sick days and payments for elves. He knew what was coming, of course. The girl would visit the library, memorize one or two books without understanding a word of what she read, and then start going on about them to everyone around her. It was fairly standard as things like her went, after all.

Only this time Harry had far better things to do. He hoped for her sake that she didn't pester _him_, as he didn't think he could be held accountable for his actions if she did.

Still, it was none of his business right now.

Turning his attention back to his dinner, Harry consumed his dessert, till he was full. Soon, it vanished, and he heard Dumbledore make the announcements.

Harry saw the students' moods change and shift, as they heard, first about the hiatus on Quidditch and then of the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry was just as surprised as the others when he saw Mad-Eye Moody make his appearance. To be honest, Harry had almost forgotten about the man.

Anyway, soon the whole thing was over, and Harry was on his way to Dumbledore's office, for a much needed talk.

The gargoyle jumped out of his way as soon as it saw him coming, and Harry entered Dumbledore's office.

"Hello, Harry. Or should I call you Duke Gryphonsworth?" Dumbledore's voice carried just that tinge of mockery that Harry was so familiar with, aimed at making Harry either nervous or angry.

It managed neither. Harry was by now far too matured to fall for such childish games.

"Either will do, Headmaster. I don't really care. Now, none of us has time for meaningless pleasantries, so can we get to business?

"Of course, of course, but may I ask how your summer was?"

"Eventful. Very eventful. Now I need to talk to you about quite a few things, and if we maintain the usual cloak and daggers rubbish then I can assure you that it will take forever to get to any sort of point. So, I suggest that we both take a couple of unbreakable vows, and get the usual rubbish out of the way."

Harry said, pushing a piece of paper with a few lines of writing on the man's desk.

Picking it up, Dumbledore read through it in a few quick seconds, and nodded. "Most satisfactory, Harry, if a bit excessive. No more than what the situation calls for, no doubt. Very well. I am prepared to swear."

"Good. Let's begin then." Harry said, standing up.

Dumbledore followed him. They clasped each other's hands, and both placed the tips of their wands on the others' wrists.

"Do you, Albus Dumbledore, swear that you will not, under any circumstances whatsoever, act on the information you gain in this meeting unless you have my express permission?" Harry asked.

"I do." Dumbledore replied.

A tongue of flame bound their hands together.

"Do you, Harry Potter, swear that you will not, under any circumstances whatsoever, act on the information you gain in this meeting unless you have my express permission?" Dumbledore asked in his turn.

"I do." Harry said.

He was being honest (not that there was any way for him not to be, what with this being the unbreakable vow and all).

_He _wouldn't be acting on any of the information. Salazar, who was watching through the eyes of the snakes painted in the corners of the portraits, was a different story.

"Do you, Albus Dumbledore, swear that you have, and will continue to do the best you can to prevent another person becoming aware of this meeting, or the facts discussed in it?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I do." Dumbledore responded.

"Do you, HarryPotter, swear that you have, and will continue to do the best you can to prevent another person becoming aware of this meeting, or the facts discussed in it?" Dumbledore asked.

"I do."

Again, no _person_ was aware. Paintings counted as objects, at least in his mind.

The moment the vows were complete, all traces of mirth vanished from Dumbledore's mind. The expression on his face reminded Harry of the exact reasons why Dumbledore currently was the most powerful wizard in Britain, and among the most powerful even on the world stage.

Still, he wasn't going to be intimidated.

"Now that I can honestly cut the rubbish, let me tell you where we currently stand. Correct me if I say anything wrong. You destroyed my childhood by making me live with people who hated and abused me. This was because you consider me evil due to the magical gifts that I possess, and so you think that I shouldn't live. Yes?" Harry asked.

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that, but-"

"Yes. Or. No?"

"Yes"

"In return, I loathe you because of what you did. I think that you are not fit to lead our country, and that you should never have ascended to the positions that you did. I am not quite sure whether I consider you worthy of living or not."

The last was a complete lie, Harry knew Dumbledore didn't deserve life and he had no intention of letting the old fool survive for too long. Still, Dumbledore didn't need to know that, did he?

"So, now that we're clear on these things, let's talk about something else. Something like this school, or our country, both of which you're doing a brilliant job of ruining."

"I hardly think so, my boy."

"I am not you boy. And you don't think so? Really?"

"Really. I know that I may have been a bit less attentive than I should have been, but-"

"I thought the whole point of the oaths was to cut the rubbish. Tell me, Dumbledore, has there been anything new done in the country _or _the school? Any new inventions, any new discoveries? Face it, Dumbledore, we have become outdated.

"Hogwarts used to be the best school of magic in the world for centuries after it was founded by my ancestors."

Harry gave the headmaster a challenging look. "And now?" he snorted.

"Now you have Trelawney, a complete and utter fake, teaching fortune telling instead of any sort of divination. You have Snape ruining generations' worth of potential healers and Aurors. Your other three heads of houses know their stuff, I'll give you that, but tell me, do you really think that other than Sprout, any of the two are worth being called heads of houses? And I haven't even started on Filch and Binns.

"The only thing that's keeping us in the place we're in, the place we deserve to be, are the accords, and every year of such wanton use makes them more hated and thus us more hated."

"Well, I know that the mainland nations have been muttering a bit," Dumbledore replied dismissively, "But it's hardly anything worrying. Hogwarts remains the best school in the world, after all."

"Yes it does, and the reason for that is that the other nations are _forbidden_ to teach anything not taught in Britain! They have brilliant teachers, just waiting for the accords to fail, and cursebreakers working day and night to make them fail!"

Harry took a deep breath.

"Listen. I am not here to scream at you. Magical Britain will keep for now. Hogwarts is my dominion as the Lord of Gryffindor and Slytherin, and I am going to be making some changes. There are teachers who are completely unacceptable, courses that need to be scrapped, and others that need to be brought back. I am willing to take care of all that, but I just need you to not undermine my decisions.I know that asking you to get rid of teachers like McGonagall and Snape is too much to ask for now. I accept that. Hell, I don't even want to remove McGonagall, just limit the responsibilities that you've been crushing her under.

"So, all I'm asking that you let me make the changes that'll benefit Hogwarts in the long run. Hogwarts has more than enough money. Let me hire new teachers, to share the workload. Let me promote new teachers to senior staff, and divide up the responsibilities they have. I'm willing to work with you, why won't you?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "Why keep me on, then, if you dislike my work that much? You have more than enough power to remove me, should you choose to."

"Don't be stupid, professor. Hogwarts needs you, and I'm going to tell you why. Voldemort is coming back. I know that you know about that ministry employee that went missing, and you are intelligent enough to connect the dots. Voldemort is coming, and you need to be here to protect the students.

"Apart from that, Hogwarts raising her standards will allow the other schools to raise theirs, and that should help at least somewhat in lessening the hatred against us."

Dumbledore released a sigh "Very well. I will consider what you ask. Now is there anything else you want to talk to me about?"

"Yes. As you know, I have completed the courses of Hogwarts. Therefore, I'm just telling you that I'll not be attending any classes other than the ones I wish to attend. Apart from that, I'll be leaving Hogwarts time to time on business. I'll appreciate if you or your attack dogs didn't give any trouble."

"Well, you have it, obviously. Now I need to ask you a few things, and I would appreciate it if you answered me honestly."

"Well, ask away. I make no promises, though." Harry replied.

"First of all, tell me how you came to meet your new allies? If you can, of course."

"That's fine. And actually, I didn't meet them, they found me. You remember the dementor incident?"

"Of course I do. What of it?"

"It turns out that when I broke through the blocks you placed on me, I attracted the attention of several of my relatives who had been looking for me for a long time. I can't go in too much detail, not with the vows I've sworn, but Uncle Erebus located me, and brought me there. I was trained under conditions I refuse to disclose, and you have the result."

"I suspected as much. Now I need to hold a staff meeting, so if you would excuse me…"

Harry turned to leave.

"Oh and Harry, please don't hesitate in meeting me if any need arises. Same terms as today."

"Will do, Dumbledore."

When Harry left, Dumbledore sat contemplating for a few minutes. As things went, it was actually a fairly amicable meeting. They got some real issues resolved and a bit of air was cleared between them. All in all, a good meeting.

The fact of the matter was that Dumbledore was a hard realist at heart, who had grown up to become an idealist. He had been born and raised in poverty, and his adolescence had been clouded in scandal at a time period when scandals usually meant being completely destroyed.

He had heard the stories from his mother, of things that had happened to her cousins when they made even the slightest divergence from what was considered 'normal' and 'gentlemanly' in the Muggle world.

No, many words could be said about the Victorian age, but tolerant wasn't one of them. The Muggles had had the worst of it under that delusional prude, but the wizards had had their share. The fact that he'd been lucky enough to be born in a world where his power alone was enough to balance out his vast array of eccentricities had never been lost on him. He loved Hogwarts, and he loved magical Britain with all his heart. In his youth, he'd committed what he now believed to be great mistakes, but now this whelp had made him rethink all that.

It wasn't a matter of changing viewpoints. He was far too set in his ways for that. No, the point that Dumbledore was trying to simplify to himself was that good or bad, he was now old: Far, far too old to be actively participating in anything. His only possible successor was Harry Potter, who Albus had believed for a long time to be completely, unbelievably evil, to the point that he'd been making it his last good deed to get rid of the boy.

But seeing that young man here, now, speaking with such passion of the betterment of Hogwarts and accepting Albus' needs to protect his dignity, he couldn't help but think that he had been making a huge mistake.

Albus still remembered the day, when he'd taken the baby from the burning wreckage of his home, when he'd discovered his talents, and had bound them, along with a huge part of the lad's power. But didn't he remember reading that talents like that, whether good or bad, were all signs of rulers. Just like being born with a full set of teeth (which Harry was, he remembered), extraordinary magical abilities denoted a child's aptitude to be a ruler, to be a king.

Could it be that his mind had been clouded by the nature of the gifts to the significance of their very presence?

He wasn't quite convinced yet, but maybe, just maybe, some more observation was needed. Maybe there still was hope.

There had to be, as he was tired. He was in no state to do this, in no state to fight any more.

Had Albus Dumbledore been capable of it, he might even have noticed the mixtureof airborne potions that was now completely inside his bloodstream.

Reaching the common room, Harry met the Creevey brothers. He didn't have anything in particular to tell them although he did buy out every single picture Colin had ever taken of him. Finally, going to bed after promising him to sign his collection someday, Harry knew that whatever happened, the coming days would be fun.

He was right. They were. Harryspent the week busy, as wherever he went, there were always people willing to have a moments' talk with him. Well, that had always been so, but the difference was that _he _was willing to talk to them too.

Throughout Hogwarts, the topics of conversation always ranged from the Triwizard tournament, to the new Althric phones that they all had bought. Harry had been a bit peeved to find out that they had been banned at Hogwarts, but he understood the reasons. The students learned little enough as things were, introducing something like that would make any hope of improvement futile.

Still, that still left a lot of things. Whether it was the Tournament or Althric or whatever; Harry was always talking, laughing, and generally having a good time with his peers. It helped that he had plenty of time to do whatever he liked, having already sat for all his papers.

One student that Harry took care to spend time with was Neville. He talked to the boy, helped him with his work, and generally tried to be a friend to the friendless boy, as a smallbeginning to the alliance he intended to form.

On the other end, however, were the students of Ravenclaw house. Harry knew that whatever happened, they wouldn't be entering into any alliance with him anytime soon. He still remembered what he had done to them.

**Flashback**

_Harry had just found Luna one night, locked inside a small cupboard on the third floor. She had been beaten, likely as a direct result of the warning he had given to Chang, Edgecombe and her other tormentors. He knew that he wasn't capable of feeling anger, but what currently coursed through him came damn close._

_The first priority had been to take her to the Hospital wing, which he had done. After that, he had decided that this couldn't be allowed to continue anymore._

_That was why he was currently climbing the stairs to the Ravenclaw tower._

"_What came fir-" was about as far as the knocker got with its riddle, before a flick of Harry's wand silenced it. A second flick opened the door behind with nary a noise, and yet another one wove a notice-me-not spell on it._

_Moving in, he looked the common room over. Good, every single person he wanted was here, laughing as they mimed hitting and mentally torturing a thirteen year old girl. With a lazy wave of his wand, Harry spread an area wide compulsion on everyone (other than the students he wanted) to leave and go to their dormitories._

_As the common room emptied, the bullies found themselves unable to move, scream, or in fact do anything at all._

_Soon, the only people there were the ones he wanted to see, and Harry could act freely._

_As he took off the disillusionment charm along with the spells on them, Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw seventh year and current Head Boy stared at him, before saying "What are you doing here, Potter?"_

_Ignoring him, Harry said. "I just escorted one of my best new friends, Luna Lovegood, to the Hospital wing. It seems like several students of Ravenclaw thought it would be a good idea to beat her black and blue, and then stuff her in a small cupboard" Harry said, ignoring Davies._

"_So, she's just a loony little whore. What are you going to do about it?" Harry didn't see who said that, but it sounded like Chang._

"_I am here to give you a lesson in pureblood etiquette. You see, the Lovegoods are vassals of the house of Sharr, and the current Lord Sharr is my ally. That makes it my responsibility to take care of her. You understand?"_

_In response, their hands dove into pockets, emerging with wands. One of the seventh years hit the door with a combination of four separate locking charms._

"_You're all alone with fifteen of us now, Potter." He said, jeering._

"_No, the fifteen of you are all alone with me now." Harry responded, before moving his hand in a casual gesture._

_The room filled with noise, as fifteen separate wands shattered, their pieces embedded deep in the palms of the hands that had been holding them. Immediately, the expressions in the room went from cocky and malicious to terrified and painful, but Harry was just starting._

_Another flick of a finger later every one of them were levitated in the air, before coming down to the ground, hard. He knew that all of them now had at least two broken bones. He gave a satisfied smile. As far as physical damage went, this should suffice._

_Next, he exerted his magic again, and several of the bullies screamed as they rose in the air yet again._

_With a thought, Harry opened the windows around the room. Another thought vanished the grills, before a third one had them floating outside, nine floors in the air._

_Pausing for a few seconds, Harry let them go. The screams that they released while they plummeted were annoying, but a necessary evil, he conceded. He maintained the magical link with them, even as they reached terminal velocity. Then, as soon as the distance between the lowest member of the group and the ground was a meter, the levitation went back into effect._

_They climbed back to the level of the Ravenclaw common room, before he let them loose again. Again, he stopped their fall and brought them back up as soon as they reached close to the ground._

_After he'd done this half a dozen times Harry spoke "So, can you now promise me that you'll not be so horrible to the girl? Pretty please?" he affixed an innocent smile on his face._

"_Ye-yes, Potter. Whatever. Just get us out of here." Davies said,_

"_Good, very good. And you of course realize that breathing one word of this to anyone will be a very bad idea, don't you?"_

"_O-Of course. We know that but get us out of herepleasePotter" it was Chang this time._

"_Certainly, in a minute," Harry said affably, "Now, one more thing. About the things that you have, till date, stolen from Luna Lovegood. You will return everything you still have, and will pay the going price for everything you don't, unless you want to be making your next thefts from six feet under. You understand that?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Excellent! Now just so you remember this…" Harry left them to make the nine-floor trip again, before bringing them back up._

"_I'm glad we had this talk. See you later."_

**End Flashback**

Yeah. He didn't think they'd be too fond of him after that.

Terrified? Yes. But hardly fond of

Still, it was worth it. Luna Lovegood had been confirmed as a seer, from the blood sample Harry had sneaked from the infirmary. In addition to her Pureblood ancestry and direct descent from the founder, that made her the sole heiress of the house of Ravenclaw, as Harry had confirmed (at considerable expense) that Julia Morrigan didn't have so much of a hint of the gift.

Actually, the two things, her ancestry and the bullying, may even have been interrelated, if Harry was reading the signs right. Still, it was too early to make projections on incomplete information.

Harry mused that that hadn't even been the only founder-related surprise he'd had. Neville, it turned out, was an actual potential druid. That, seen with respect to his descent from Helga, made him a potential Lord Hufflepuff. Both pieces of news had Harry worrying about what to do for hours. He had plans that included him having absolute control of Hogwarts and the country, and Luna and Neville were a threat as things were.

It wasn't an immediate danger, as Harry had already started to increase his friendship with Neville, and thus his dependence on him, while also exposing Neville to a course of compulsions and potions that would eventually allow him to take total control of the boy.

It was a tricky thing, as the magic of House Longbottom was protecting the boy's mind, but it was getting done.

To be honest, Harry didn't like doing it to Neville. But, as it was said, needs must, and to do anything less than all he could do was always a recipe for disaster.

While on the other hand, Luna was far too grateful to him as things were for such measures to even be necessary. That wouldn't have stopped him, but using mind-control techniques on seers, even those whose gifts hadn't manifested, was iffy at best.

And even if he did gain control of both people, there was the matter that what would he do with them? Magic didn't allow for one Eldritch House to be bound in vassalage to another, not unless the House that was becoming the Liege was acknowledged as a ruling Royal house (by having full control of at least one primary ley line).

Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Speaking of gaining control of families, he was reminded of another meeting he'd attended.

_It was a dark room. All occupants were wearing golden masks with aquiline faces carved on them. _

_The occupants were all from wealthy, powerful pureblood families, although not even half of them knew each other's identities. They were here after hours upon hours of long, (and in some cases painful) negotiations, that had involved everything from honour to debts to blackmail._

_But they were all here, and that was what mattered in the end._

"_Let the seventh meeting of the Ouroboros Alliance be called to order." A voice spoke, from one of the figures standing on the raised dais._

"_The first order of the meeting is the induction of five new members in the order. Their credentials and contribution have already been approved by the founding council. They are fully prepared and willing to swear the oaths and bindings required of a member of the Alliance." A different voice, also on the dais, said._

"_Very well. Let them be called forth and sworn in."_

_At this, a figure with a mask that had a star carved on the forehead strode forward, pulling gently by the arm another figure whose mask depicted a dragon._

"_The first is Lord Wiltshire. He shall now swear the oaths._

"_Do you, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, swear to never, under any circumstances whatsoever, reveal any information pertaining to the Ouroboros Alliance to someone not already aware of it?"_

"_I do." Lucius swore._

"_Do you swear to obey the directives of the Alliance in all matters business and political, whether issued by the founding council or by a full majority, insofar as they remain within reason, and do not violate the rights that are granted upon you, by virtue of your membership?"_

"_I do."_

"_Do you, Lucius Malfoy, acknowledge that the membership of the Alliance, once accepted, can never be given up, except in the case of a direct violation of your rights and privileges upon which a member of the founding circle has duly adjudicated?"_

"_I do."_

"_Then it is my great pleasure to announce that you are hereby acknowledged as Brother Viper, full member of the Ouroboros Alliance. Welcome, brother."_

"_I accept the acknowledgement with honour."_

"_The next is Mr Ali Bashir. He shall now swear the oaths."_

_And so it went, till all five of the new members were sworn in with the same oaths._

_Upon the acknowledgement of Lysander Yaxley as the newest Brother, the members of the alliance all moved as one, removing their masks and tossing them to the floor._

"_We are now all Brothers hence there is no need for secrecy." The voice of the man the occupants of the room now recognized as Erebus Sharr spoke._

"_And with that, I declare the seventh meeting truly open. Let's retire to a more comfortable setting for discussions"_

_As one, the group moved into a comfortable room, settling down on large leather armchairs. "Now," Harry said briskly. "Let's be frank with each other. We are here because all of us are worried about the direction our world is going in. Every day more and more magic is lost, the number of talented, powerful people falls lower, our traditions become weaker. We are all here as we know that alone, none of us have the power needed to stem the tide, but together we can transform our world."_

"_Hear, hear." One of the members said._

_As it was the very first meeting for several people, no matters of real substance were discussed, but the meeting continued for a fairly long time anyway. They got the introductions (where they were needed) out of the way, they clarified the aims, and so it went for nearly two hours, before the meeting was declared closed._

_It wasn't as if something really ground-breaking occurred in the few hours, but Harry was satisfied with the start anyway._

Still, putting aside Ravenclaw bullies who'd had the fear of magic put into them, and also secret groups created apparently for a lot of reasons but truly just to fulfil his aims, Harry 'days had been relatively calm. It had been twenty days since the start of term, and everything was on track.

His businesses in the magical world now had a net profit going in the tens of millions of Galleons, while the Muggle world profits had long since entered the hundreds of millions of pounds. His hold over the dictatorships was strong, and the countries themselves were now on a recovery track since the money they had, went into their improvement, along with money from his vast network of illegal sources. Finally, his hold over magical Britain was strengthening day by day as he bought more debts, collected more blackmail.

His own powers grew by leaps and bounds as he kept the time dilation of the chamber at maximum, learning entire books' worth of knowledge in days, practicing it hard. Soon, he would be starting some blood magic rituals that would allow him to push past the limitations of the human body. Another thing he was considering when he deemed himself capable was to redo the ley line ritual, connecting himself to more lines. He was a long ways off from it right now, but it was worth considering.

The one magical achievement he seemed unable to get was the instincts and magical powers of his Animagus form. It was frustrating, especially as he couldn't start work on his other forms till he mastered the first one. Still, it would be done sooner or later.

The Triwizard Tournament was going to start in a few days, and he was going to be taking a powerful position in the DMLE. Meaning that he might as well enjoy the steadiness he now had, as the future was going to be very busy.

Just as he liked it.

Aaaaand, that's another chapter done.

I like this one, actually, as I gave a sincere attempt to correct what the readers said they disliked, although just like Harry, I refuse to ever stop trying to improve.

So, like it? Hate it? Have something to contribute? Find something missing?

Anything at all, please tell me via review/PM.

Ciao

blackshadow111


	13. Chapter 13

Welcome, all of my dear readers, to the latest chapter of the Chronicles of Camelot. Before you read, I would like to tell you, that although it's a very short one, this chapter contains my first fight scene _ever. _So leave your opinions about what you think, pretty please?

On a different note, I have achieved triple digit reviews! In celebration, this chapter is extra-long. (Not by all that much, but still, it's a five digit word count. Another first, actually.)

So, without further ado:

There were many factors that contributed to a family's power in the magical world. Money was the most important factor, of . Then there was influence, and connections, and they all mattered. But in the end, the most important thing was, and had always been, knowledge.

The fact that one family could do something better than anyone else could, that their attempts at one or more branches of Magic would be better than anyone else, had always formed the backbone of the position and privilege enjoyed by that particular family.

It wasn't an absolute thing, there were quite a few notable exceptions, but it was there anyway.

For example, the Potter family was well respected because of their awesome contributions in the fields of warding, enchanting, and . The Houses of Black and the Bones were feared for their own necromantic talents, the Longbottoms's respected stature was owed in a big way to their extraordinary work with plants, so on.

This was especially true in terms of military ability. Excellent scholarly abilities were one thing, but there was a wholly different sort of power enjoyed by the families whose talents lent themwellthem well to battle. Again, in example, the Slytherins had their mind magic. It was a nice thing, and brought them a considerable amount of respect, but their real power was still derived from the masses of reptiles that answered to a Parselmouth's command.

These were the thoughts that occupied Harry's mind that morning of October. It was obvious, as within a few days it would be his family's extreme prowess with death and the ability to control dementors that would see his alternate identity appointed as the Chief Warden of Azkaban, a position every bit equal in seniority to the Head of the Auror office, or the Commandant of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. It wasn't quite _that_ simple, as this dated back to agreements made all the way to the formation of the ministry, but it was the crux of the matter regardless.

Still, it wasn't all that he had on his mind. In a couple of days the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be arriving, and Harry had to consider again exactly what he would be doing in regards to them. He wasn't stupid enough to let such an opportunity pass him by, of course.

In addition to that, there was the meeting that was going to start in a few hours. It was the first staff meeting of the year, and Harry had a whole lot of things planned for it. He'd finished selecting and interviewing the teachers that would be joining the Hogwarts staff roster, not to mention the teachers who were going to be granted administrative powers.

It had been a pain extracting vows of secrecy from them till he gave them permission to reveal the information (which they would get today in that very meeting), but it was going to pay off in a big way today.

Harry smiled as he thought of the chaos he was going to cause.

He didn't know just why he was so fond of doing things like this.

Under normal circumstances, he was a serious, driven individual. But at times, there was in him a mischievous streak that he blamed his father and godfather for. That was what had inspired the whole Narcissa thing back at the world cup, and the whole thestral race thing.

He supposed it was nice for a bit of relaxation, and even better for psychological warfare. He would have scoffed at that before, but the way Snape had been acting for the last month was proof enough.

His smile deepened, as he thought of that. It had been a truly marauder thing. Having come to Hogwarts, Harry had tapped into and taken temporary control of the wards (no doubt giving Dumbledore a small heart attack), and had then cast a spell that detected every single place where the word 'Severus' was present in written form. Having found it, he had willed it to change to 'Snivellus', adding a further enchantment to make the change permanent.

It worked everywhere, from notice boards to the man's employment contract itself. The real genius, though, was in that the change was both irreversible and self-perpetuating, meaning that not only were the older records affected, but every time anyone tried to write the murderer's name, 'Snivellus' was what left the quill.

Harry had really, really enjoyed the way the man had screamed around, but he'd enjoyed the confrontation more._Harry_more._ Harry had decided to attendPotionsattend Potions today, just to see Snape's reaction__. Going into the dungeon, Harry smiled as he read the plaque. He had to admit it rather honestly that, 'Snivellus Snape: Potions Master.'hadMaster. 'Had a ring to it that 'Severus' seemed to miss._

_The smile vanished, as he heard the screeching._

"_HarryPotterHarry Potter!"_

_Turning around, he gave a small sigh,"Yessigh, "Yes, Granger? What can I do for you?"_

"_Don't 'yes Granger' me. You did this, didn't you, Harry? Why can't you stop antagonizing Professor Snape, Harry? He's a teacher!"_

_He gave her a bored look,"Andlook, "And?"_

"_And you must treat him with the respect he deserves! Haven't you learnt anything in three years of Hogwarts? How can you be so immature?"_

_That was about as much patience as Harry had with the harpy. With a flick of his hand, Harry transfigured the lower half of her face, melding together her lips so that no hint of them remained._

_At this point, he supposed that he could have given her a nice long lecture about how his actions were not her business, and how the only person he answered to was himself. He could have explained it to her in detail that she was so insignificant that it would take her at least a hundred more lifetimes to be able to matter in the slightest to him. But the fact wasthatwas that he just didn't feel like it._

_So, he replaced the spell he'd just placed on her mouth with a simple silencing charm that would leave her lips as they were but spare his ears all the same, and turned around and strode into the classroom through the now open door._

_Soon enough, the man himself arrived, scowl worse than ever and his robes billowing behind him. Seeing Harry, his lip curled, reflecting his obvious disgust at the circumstances._

"_How nice of you to grace us with your presence again, Mr Potter"_

"_Yeah, it _is _nice, isn't it, Snivvy? I was getting bored, so I thought why not pay the local vermin a visit. Y'know, mixing with the unwashed masses and all? And well, it doesn't really get any more unwashed than you, does it?"_

_Harry watched the man's face go a shade of purple he'd only seen gracing Vernon's face before. The words he was saying were almost word-to-word similar to what his father used to say in such situations, and he could see that Snape still remembered it._

_To his credit, however, the man did show some of the cunning that any decent Slytherin was supposed to possess, managing to suppress his anger._

"_It is evident that recent happenings have swelled your already inflated opinion of yourself." The Potions Master said silkily.". "It ishardlyis hardly surprising, what with the disgusting worms that you had for parents."_

_Or not... It seemed Harry had spoken too soon. Snape didn't have the required cunning after all._

"_Yeah, well. It happens. I get a lost pureblood heiress for a mother and a rather arrogant young heir for a father; you get a spineless blood traitor and a drunken Muggle rapist. We can't really choose our parents, can we?"_

_And this sort of thing was why information networks were so important. The wizarding public knew that Eileen Prince had married a Muggle called Tobias Snape. People who had access to the correct people in St. Mungo's and the DMLE read reports of a rape and subsequent pregnancy, covered up by a hasty marriage with the groom dosed up to his ears in potions and drink._

_It was no matter of love that placed Severus__Snape'sSeverus_ _nape's birthday exactly five months after his parents' marriage, after all. _

_Once again, Snape somehow retained control on his temper. Turning to the rest of the class, he barked. "What are you lot waiting for? Instructions are on the board, now get to it!"_

_Just for the heck of it, Harry decided that he too, would make the wit sharpening potion. A snap of his fingers had his cauldron brought from his trunk to his hand, with all the knives and assorted equipment already in it. Moving over to Neville, Harry set up shop._

"_Hey Neville," he said winningly,"Nicewinningly, "Nice day, eh?"_

"_Yeah, Harry. It is now, with how you put Snape in his place. I wish I had your courage, you know. I really do."_

_Harry was somewhat surprised. It was perhaps the longest few sentences Neville had ever spoken in the dungeons._

_It was at this point that Harry realized one thing. Severus Snape's position, as far as Harry was concerned, had just changed. _

_Not in regards to his plans about the man, no. _

_He was still going down, painfully and brutally. No, but Snape had just become the key to securing Neville under Harry's banner. He remembered that the boy's greatest fear, a year ago at least, had been Snape._

_And as far as he knew, nothing had happened that could change that._

_So it meant that Harry's plans to secretly destroy Snape were now scrapped. The worm would still be destroyed, yes, but now it would be very, very public. Harry couldn't even claim to really be the inventor of this whole plan, as it was basically the same con that Dumbledore had, inadvertently or not, pulled on Europe with Grindelwald, albeit on a much smaller scale._

_Even as Harry opened the link and issued mental orders to Selene to stop the preparations that had been underway about his plans for Snape, his mind, or at least a part of it, was already making new ones while the larger part oversaw the brewing of the potion._

_Harry expected the bat to interfere sooner or later. He wasn't disappointed._

"_So, this is what you call a Wit Sharpening Potion, Longbottom? It truly is a pity that nothing can be done about _your_ wit." The disgusting voice said, looking over a potion that Harry knew to be perfect till that point._

"_Well, here you have it, Neville. Five galleons. You were correct, after all." Harry said, plastering a disappointed look on his face._

_Before Neville could show his bewilderment, and ruin the trap Harry was laying, Harry pretended to suddenly remember something, followed by a show of apology._

"_Oh, I'm sorry! You said that whatever happened, we should wait till after the class to talk about the result of the bet. I'm really sorry, Neville!" Harry said, voice a perfect imitation of distress._

"_What is this, Potter? You have been making bets about me?"_

_Hook, line and sinker._

"_Well, yeah. I said that even you couldn't be stupid enough to interfere with Neville's work today, but he said that-" Harry was interrupted, as it seemed that this was the limit of whatever passed for restraint in Snape's mind._

_As Snape's hand blurred into motion, diving into his pocket and emerging with a wand, Harry spoke, and with a few words and exertions of magic, wove into being a shield around the students._

_Another exertion of magic stripped the headmaster's authority over this part of the wards, while yet another closed every single door in the room._

_Even as Snape slashed his wand through the air, releasing what was no doubt his favourite spell, Sectumsempra, Harry raised a hand and gestured._

_Immediately, the air around Snape quadrupled in density. Struggling to remain upright, he cast a series of spells, no doubt aimed at undoing whatever Harry just did._

_While he did that, Harry let loose a series of Crescent slicers, piercers, and bone crushers at the man. SnaperecoveredSnap recovered just in time to cast a blood red shield around himself that absorbed each of the spells, before retorting with another Sectumsempra, and a pair of his own bone crushers._

_With a thought, Harry unravelled the spells, snapping the link between the power and the intent. Abstractual magic was a pretty recent skill in his arsenal, but it was a very useful one._

_Not really inclined to continue the circus, Harry released a layered set of nine separate Sumerian curses, an Indian battle spell, and four Egyptian mummifying spells. Snape put up a shield that lasted about as long as a sheet of tissue paper before a freight train, before he had seventeen separate broken bones,hisbones, his left halfrottedhalf rotted complete with Earthworms and Magpies, blindness as both his eyes went 'pop', and an immolated tongue _

_Just to add insult to injury, Harry conjured a fire whip, before giving it a few flicks, as he carved 'Ita semper as terroris'__ on the man's chest. This done, he invoked abstractual magic yet again, opening himself to the soul of all magic as he searched for the word he needed._

_He remembered Slytherin's words about the will and the word. "Find the will, shape the power, and the word shall come to you."_

_It did. Harry was left feeling a bit lightheaded, as he felt the unnatural sounds that comprised the word of power leave his lips. He could feel its power, though. It would do the job well. _

_What Harry had just done was to completely erase the very concept of the words ever disappearing from Snape's chest from the weave of reality. It just couldn't be done. Not by magic, and certainly not by Muggle means._

_They might try all the treatments they liked, but success was impossible, as the very outcome of the words disappearing had been burnt away from the list of possible outcomes any treatment may have._

_His purpose of coming to the dungeon now satisfied, Harry left, going straight to the Chamber of Secrets._

That had been two days ago. Harry knew that it had taken Pomfrey about ten minutes to take care of the broken bones and blindness. The rot and the muteness, however, were a mix of high Necromancy and minor alchemy, meaning that removal of the curses, while very much possible, was going to be far outside the skill range of any school nurse.

Eventually, the time for the meeting came.

Harry left the Chamber, taking two secret passages that left him standing outside the office of the Headmaster in a matter of minutes. As the Gargoyle jumped out of his way, he strode up the stairs, not content to let the moving staircase carry him up the all the way.

Entering the office, Harry saw that hardly anyone had arrived. Only Dumbledore himself and a couple of other teachers were there in the office at the moment. Oh, and Snape.

"Good afternoon, people. Hello Dumbledore. Hi Snivvy!" Harry spoke, taking a seat at the right of the table that he knew was brought out from the Artefacts vault for these meetings.

To be honest, he was a bit surprised to see Snape here. It confirmed in his mind that Dumbledore must have used his influence to get Snape healed, when he heard the man speak. "Potter, you-"

"Hush, Snivellus. The adults are talking." Harry said, before a flick of his finger sealed the man's mouth.

"I must insist you stop doing that, Harry." Dumbledore said lightly, voice just as full of mirth as ever.

"See, Professor, tell him to keep his mouth shut, and I'll stop doing it for him. But that isn't the purpose of this meeting, so let it come later, please."

"And he does have to speak in this meeting, Harry"

"Oh well." Harry said, before a casual wave of his hand returned Snape's voice.

"Headmaster! He assaulted me right in front of you!" the whining voice, well, whined.

"Please remain quiet, Severus. This is not the time."

Any further retorts Snape may have made were lost, as the other members of the staff arrived.

As the room filled, Dumbledore spoke. "Welcome to the first meeting of the Hogwarts staff for the year 1994. Please be seated, as we have a lot of ground to cover."

Harry suppressed a smile, as McGonagall's voice spoke. "What's His Grace doing here, Albus? I wasn't aware he was a teacher."

"But he is the Duke of Parsellsia and Gryphonsworth, Minerva. It is well within his rights to attend whatever meetings he wishes to attend. Rest assured that the purpose of his presence shall be explained in time. Do have patience, please." Dumbledore said.

"Yeah, Professor," Harry interjected.". "Don't mind me. I'm just here to tell you of a few changes that are going to be happening around here. But that'll wait till after you all can have your usual meeting."

Harry tuned the meeting out after that, as they discussed the happenings of September. It wasn't as if he would be missing something, as his ears were hearing the words, and he would be able to review them in his mind at his leisure.

Instead, his mind turned to Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was a threat that would have to be dealt with as soon as possible, and Harry was still working out just what he would be doing in that regard.

He already controlled all of the Horcruxes. That was as much a good thing, as it was a problem. It was one of the only reasons why Harry hadn't yet created a new Vassal Lord to take the Lestranges's place. Sending a new vassal to the Wizengamot would require him to make public the fate of the Lestranges. And when Voldemort found out that he'd lost the cup of Hufflepuff there would be trouble.

As if that wasn't enough, Harry had the indications that things would soon come to a head on that front. There wasn't much that Harry had in that regard, but the signs were there for those that could see them. The missing employee who'd disappeared just where Voldemort was supposed to be, the prophecy that Harry himself had heard all those days ago, they were all signs that something big was coming, and it wasn't going to be good.

Harry was jerked out of his thoughts as he heard his name mentioned,

Looking, he grimaced. Snape was speaking "-tter is more arrogant than ever! He attacked me in my own class! And I've heard that he attacked several Ravenclaws too!"

Dumbledore responded "As I'm sure you're aware, Severus, His Grace has finishedHogwartsfinished Hogwarts. His presence here is solely due to the subject of History of Magic, and of course, his own wishes. What would you propose I do to him?"

"I don't know, throw the brat in Azkaban! He attacked me, Albus! In front of the whole class!"

Harry decided not to speak. He wanted to see how Dumbledore fielded the matter.

He wasn't disappointed. The man's voice cooled, even as he spoke."Oh, is that so, Severus? I'm afraid that the students who witnessed the incident have rather different opinions of what happened."

"Yeah, well. We'll see what opinion they have once I deal with them, won't we? I'll-"

"Do us a favour, Snivellus, and kindly shut up. I'm trying to think here." The languid drawl that was Harry's voice spoke over Snape's. As it turned out, he didn't really feel like hearing Snape screech.

"Potter!" the man snarled.". "You arrogant little-"

And there it was again. Honestly, just how retarded was he?

Harry gestured with his left hand, and Snape keeled over, unconscious. As his head hit the floor, Harry muttered. "Ooh, that'll leave a bruise."

Turning his attention to the teachers, he said "Now that the original meeting is over, and the disturbance is gone, I can start informing you about the changes to take place at Hogwarts."

"First of all, there is the matter of our caretaker." Pausing, Harry snapped his finger. To the elf that appeared, he said. "Go and fetch Mr Filch, will you, Buttey?"

"Buttey will, master" it said, before popping off.

It returned in a few minutes with the odious squib, in which time Harry took a few documentsoutdocuments out of his pocket and arranged them at the table.

Before the man could say a word, Harry spoke. "Mr Filch. On this table are four things. One is your resignation, with magically binding clauses to never again enter Hogwarts. Should you be kind enough to sign it, it comes attached with a bearer bond for two thousand galleons, also on the table.

"The other item is your letter of termination. Should you still be in the castle after sundown today, I shall be signing it. It comes attached with a letter to the DMLE, once again on the table, asking for you to be investigated for your part in the deliberate endangerment of the heirs of two Ancient and Noble houses; three if you count the fact that I am also the heir of the House of Black."

Sneering at the pouchypouch face of the caretaker, Harry continued. "By today evening, one of the two sets has to be processed by the Ministry. The choice is yours."

Harry smiled sweetly at the squib as the old man glared at him. Eventually, Filch grunted, before bending and signing his resignation. He took his bearer bond, before leaving in a huff.

"Was that really necessary, Harry? That man has served the school loyally for several years." Dumbledore said.

"Are you really asking me that, Dumbledore? That was a man who has stated, loudly and repeatedly, that his greatest wish is to torture the students he's supposed to be working for. I don't know why you kept him around, but the fact remains that he does not belong anywhere near vulnerable children." Harry said, apparently frustrated.

"Everybody deserves a second chance, Harry. You can't deny him that."

"I don't remember us being the 'Hogwarts rehabilitation centre', Professor. The purpose of this school is to teach its students. He wasn't contributing to that." Harry said, with a note of finality in his voice.

"Moving on, we come to our teaching staff." He said, before turning to where Trelawney was struggling to stay awake. Even at the distance, Harry could detect the faint smell of sherry on her. Good, as it only made his decision easier. "Professor Trelawney?" he said, raising his voice to get her attention.

"Ye-yes?" she asked in her airyvoiceairy voice.

"You're fired from the position of Divination teacher. Since we know that you lack alternative accommodations, you're allowed to remain at Hogwarts for the time being. Your severance pay, Ten Thousand galleons, is being deposited in your vault as we speak"

"What? But why?" the soon to be erstwhile Divination Professor asked now fully awake.

"You need to ask, _Professor_? You're quite possibly the worst Divination teacher Hogwarts has ever had. In any case, my decision is final and binding. You're out." He paid no mind as she started crying, as the pathetic little thing she was.

He supposed he was appearing rather arrogant and conceited, making judgments and decisions without even pretending to consult any of the adult staff around him. But this was necessary. He reserved his diplomatic skills for where they were needed, and the disgusting rot that had spread deep at Hogwarts could not be smoothed out. No, the only way to deal with it was to brutally, ruthlessly stamp it out till no hints were left. It was already fixed that he wouldn't be able to do that, as Snape and McGonagall were under Dumbledore's protection, so he had to do as complete a job as possible in regards to what he _could_ do.

"Continuing, I take this opportunity to announce to you that I have arranged for my friend Lord Peverell to pay a visit to the school. He shall be exorcising the ghost haunting the history classroom, which calls itself the history professor. Again, this decision is final, and no arguments shall be entertained."

Relining in his seat, Harry continued. "After that, we come to the other subjects. It is my pleasure to announce to you, that effective immediately, the number of teachers in all of the core subjects is to be tripled, while that of the electives is to be doubled. The new teachers shall be coming in a few hours. Rooms and classrooms for them have already been prepared, and they shall take over the running of their years' classes tomorrow onwards."

This provoked a cacophony of noise as everyone tried to get explanations at the same time. Harry waited for the noise to die down, before continuing.

"To explain my last statement, this is how things are going to be."

He looked at every staff member in the eye. "For every subject that starts in first year, there shall be three teachers. One shall teach the first three years, another for years fourth and fifth, and a third for years sixth and seventh. The teachers themselves shall be rotated in this arrangement, with a few exceptions, and unless they don't want to.

"For example, we take Care of Magical Creatures. For this year, Professor Hagrid," the large man in question blushed at the title,"Shalltitle, "Shall be limited to the sixth and seventh years, while Professor Grubbly-Plank shall be teaching the first three years. Then next year, if both the teachers are in agreement, Professor Hagrid shall take over the third, fourth and fifth years, while Professor Grubbly-Plank shall teach the last two years."

Harry placed his hands on the table and interlaced his fingers as he continued. "This system shall allow the students to have maximum contact with all of their teachers. In order to preserve uniformity, teachers shall be required to submit a syllabus for every batch that they shall decide by common agreement, and it will be followed, regardless of who the teacher is."

There was a moment's silence as he paused to deliver the final part of his speech. "An exception is in the Potions subject, where under no circumstances shall Professor Snape be allowed to come in contact with any years other than the sixth and seventh, who _should_ be able to handle his personality if they are really worth teaching anything at all." Harry barely spared the fuming Potions master a glance.

"Salaries will, of course, remain the same even for the reduced responsibilities, even though increments may suffer. More details are available in dossiers that have been delivered to your offices, and you may peruse them at your convenience. Please ensure that your convenience happens to be before six o' clock today evening, when the new staff shall be arriving."

Standing up, Harry gave a short bow to the stunned staff members. "Thank you for your time."

With that, hestrodehe strode out of the office. There were other changes that he'd not mentioned, but they were all covered in the dossiers.

His next destination was the chamber of secrets. His thoughts about Voldemort had reminded him of something. The first batch of crystals was ready, and Harry had something he needed to do soon. Apart from that, the outfitting of several of his planned devices was underway, but something of the magnitude of what he was about to do superseded everything.

**One Hour Later**

Harry stood back, as the last of the crystals was set in place, by the levitation spells Selene controlled.

"Alright, Selene. Hit it." He said.

Immediately, the air filled with a low hum, as powerful magic was woven. Harry was standing at the centre of an Eight Pointed star, painted with a mixture of Phoenix Ash, Dementor Essence, and his own blood. In four of the triangles, were four black glass orbs, labelled simply from one to four.

In the other four triangles, there were four objects:ALocketobjects: Locket, A cup, a diadem and a ring.

Surrounding the whole setup, in strategic positions, were a number of Magical crystals that were the source of the hum, as power poured into them from the Hogwarts ley lines.

They were meant to provide power for the ritual. Harry could've done it himself, but he wanted to minimize his personal connection.

As the crystals powered up, Harry started a chant, following it with some specific occult gestures.

A knowledgeable listener may have detected hints of Sanskrit, Aztec, and Old Norse in it, among many others. It was punctuated in places by different words, words of power that consisted of syllables never meant to be spoken from human lips. They were harsh, strange sounds, which hung in the air far too long to be natural.

As Harry's chant progressed, the magic of the room steadily gained a deathly tint. Shadows crept from unseen corners; all sounds other than his voice ceased, as if the world itself was holding its breath. But he went on.

On his hand, the ring of Lordship had abandoned all other forms it normally wore, and glowed with the full splendour of the House of Peverell.

As his chant reached yet another crescendo, Harry closed his eyes for a split second. Then he opened three eyes. Two were biological, of course, but the third was the power that many called mage sight, others referred to as aura viewing, and so on.

It allowed him to watch all seven planes of magic at the same time, whereas his normal eyes could only see one.

Looking at the Horcruxes, he saw the disgusting pieces of soul, and more importantly, he saw the thin bonds of magic, the spells upon spells that made the objects all but invulnerable.

He knew that he could be done with them right now, if he wanted to.

All it would take was one spell. '_Arcesso Fiendfyre,' he thought. 'And it's all over._'

But the shards had more uses still.

And so, as his chant gained a decidedly snakelike element, he worked magic on the artefacts, unravelling the magic on it thread by thread, slowly separating Voldemort's abominations from the spells of true power that they had crept into.

It took several minutes, but results showed eventually.

As one, four diseased orbs exited from the priceless artefacts, leaving the original powers of the objects behind as their links snapped.

But they didn't go unguided.

As soon as the last of the links between the objects and the soul fragments disappeared, runes flared to life. They surrounded the soul shards in every direction: FromaboveFrom above, front, back, left, right, and most importantly, below.

As the shards floated, four lines of beautifully painted runes became visible, crossing over the lines of the starstraightstar straight to the black glass orbs in the opposite triangles.

Then, as the last magic of binding and guidance locked into place, new tethers formed, between the orbs of glass and those of ectoplasm.

Within moments, the soul fragments were drawn, like fish along a line, straight into the glass orbs.

Then, the binding runes floating in the air shrank, before coming deeper and imprinting themselves onto the orbs.

Soon, it was over, and Harry gave a sigh of relief. All had gone as it should have.

Really, this showed the power of good planning.

With a flick of his hand, the orbs were banished to specially warded boxes in specially warded rooms.

All done, he vanished the star and banished the crystals to storage. Walking over, he picked up and collected the former Horcruxes, although not before performing seven separate scans to check for the success of the ritual.

Three of them, he banished to his Artefacts lab. The fourth, however, he put on.

Then, he channelled his power to it, and watched as the black stone became darker, if such a thing were . With measured twitches of his wrist, he chose a name.

And soon, standing before him, hazy, as if it were an overexposed Muggle photo, was a figure he'd only seen before in photos and memories.

"Hi, Harry." the figure said in avoicea voice just as lovely as he'd heard cooing over him.

"Hello, mother,"

They talked for a while, and for the first time in his life, Harry could truly regard himself as having gotten some closure for his parents' deaths. He had to be careful, though. They could only talk about things he already knew, as otherwise there was a cost that would have to be paid.

Harry thought back to the first time he had found out about the costs.

Harry had been studying about Necromancy, and was currently busy reading an entry into the Peverell Grimoire, written by Kharaidon Peverell himself.

This was how it went:

_The simple matter of utilizing the powers of the void; like the necromantic curses, the Inferius, and the Zombie, are simple: All they require is the energy that has to be spent into any other spell. It is in fact for this reason, that they are used with wands, and therefore regarded, at least partially, a tame sort of magic._

_True Necromancy, however, the branch that delves truly into the Untamed Arts, which utilizes the powers at the heart of the Void, that crosses over into the realm of the dead, is a different matter, however._

_It is said that death is fair, death is true, and death is just. These words are all true._

_To do anything that counts as true necromancy, a price must be paid._

_To understand this, one must look at a simple example. That is, summoning a shade of a dead person, and the having it do something; __whether by binding it to a body, or indeed any other means. In such a case, a minimum of three sacrifices are necessary._

_To bring a soul back from within the Void, another soul must go in. _

_Then, to give the shade a corporeal form, another corporeal form must be lost. That is to say, another soul must be pushed into the Void that hungers for them._

_Finally, to make anything else pass through the void, whether the shade's magical powers, or his/her knowledge, yet another sacrifice must be made. This extends to every single piece of knowledge, and every one of the abilities._

_This is the reason why I truly regard my sons as the best Necromancers to have ever lived._

_Over the years our world has existed, many have held considerable powers over the void._

_They are the wizards who ascended to become Gods of Death in the various Pantheons of Yore. In Shinto, there is the Shinigami. Among the Hindus, there is Yamraj__. Among the Greeks, there are Thanatos and Hades. The Egyptians had Osiris._

_My sons have collected the symbols of power from each of these Death gods. Antioch speaks of turning the Spear of the Shinigami into an Unbeatable Wand. Cadmus, the love-struck rascal, speaks of uniting the twelve Aztec skulls into a single stone. And my dear Ignotus, sweet, innocent Ignotus, he speaks of taking Hel's cloak__ and make it invisible._

_From what I can understand, they do not intend to neglect the other pantheons, and neither do they intend for these to be the only powers their artefacts possess, but the details escape my mind. What I do understand is how this relates to the three costs._

_It is simple. Whoever holds Cadmus's stone is exempt from the cost of the soul exiting the void. Similarly the holder of Ignotus's Cloak skips the cost of materialization; and for the master of Antioch's wand, the cost for actions is waived._

_Not only this, but they have also done what no one else has done before. By uniting the powers of every individual to have ever held powers over the void, they intend to make it so that the owner of all three of their artefacts, their so called Hallows, shall have absolute and complete control over death, in all of its shapes and forms. The individual, in essence, will be able to command the entry and exit of whichever soul he or she chooses into the void with total impunity. I know for a fact that death is a sentient force, and this shall give complete mastery over it to one person._

_Indeed, it is my belief that the objects so crafted shall surpass everything currently known to wizardkind. Technically speaking, they can only be considered Mystic codes .But in terms of power, should everything go as they want it to, these three may surpass even the strongest of Noble Phantasms._

_As a necromancer and a Peverell, I can only say that this would be the end of all problems in Necromancy. Indeed, the mastery over death is every necromancer's final destination._

As things were, Harry had two of the three, and therefore he evaded the costs for the passing of a soul into this world, and the cost for the corporeal form of his mother.

But if any of her knowledge or magic were to pass the void, he would have to pay one soul for every question she answered, or every spell she performed.

In light of that, it was perhaps understandable that he was hesitant. Not that it would be too much of a trouble to pop into a slum and grab a few dozen Muggles if he wanted any anecdotes, but it was unnecessary.

Their chat lasted for well over an hour, but eventually it was time to go. Harry allowed her to return, and himself decided to ponder the details of just what he was going to be doing now.

His thoughts eventually turned to the powerful artefacts that he suddenly found himself to be the owner of.

They were powerful mystic codes, powerful enough that they could arguably be considered equal to at least the lower level Noble Phantasms.

His eyes shone, as he remembered his studies. Enchanted artefacts were a major part of the magical world, and they had no end of usefulness even in battle.

The enchanted articles could be of all sorts. But the truly exceptional among them were regarded as Mystic Codes, the crystallized examples of a person's magic that could accomplish true wonders.

After that, of course, the power went on increasing in a multitude of ways, but the main methods were two. One was an example of Abstractual Magic, showing how things could be affected by the beliefs about them held by people. What happened was that legends spread about an artefact, starting from rumour, and spreading by word of mouth till they reached truly unbelievable proportions.

Now, belief was a very powerful force. So, all that energy that was being produced, eventually reached a certain point, and then acted. Slowly but certainly, the object itself changed, gaining the powers that it was believed to have. Original powers could be magnified, and others lost, till the object became the crystallized example of a concept.

That was what a Noble Phantasm was.

The second method was far simpler. The powers of the original code could be enhanced, as more spells were addedandadded and changes made, till its raw power itself rose to unprecedented heights.

That too, was a Noble Phantasm.

Things like this were another example of how the luck that had kept him alive for three years showed even greater results when tampered with skill.

Most people spent their lives trying to lay hands on one Noble Phantasm. He had three literally dropped in his lap. The cloak, the stone, and finally the mirror that lay stored safely in the Vaults below Hogwarts.

And now he could get so many more. The Diadem, the Locket, and the Cup all held powers of their own, just waiting to be enhanced to unbelievable levels by someone who knew what they were doing.

And who better than him, when he had the original manuscripts of Sauron himself?

Those manuscripts that contained the details of forging and enchanting the ancient Dark Lord learned fromlearned from the Valar that he'd so successfully used to destroy no less than three races?

If the knowledge that had passed into Peverell hands from the last of the Atlantean High Mages could be used properly from the materials he had; and especially in addition to the other sources of his knowledge, he could do…

Well he could do pretty much _anything_.

Wouldn't _that_ add a whole other level to his plans?

And of course, the greatest prize of them all was sitting in Dumbledore's office. That was another Noble Phantasm, one that had a whole other history.

The status of the Goblins as the sole masters of Metal magic was, after all, a recent thing. Even if the rest of the world had forgotten about them, most of the old families still possessed enough knowledge to put even the best Goblin scholars to shame.

As things were, he had confirmed that enchanting on that level was too much for automatons, even under Selene's guidance. So whatever was to be done, he would have to do himself. He intended to forge weapons and rings for his vassals once they had some experience, but to do it for himself, now…?

No. He didn't have the time, and he lacked the full extent of resources.

There would be a time to go on an enchanting spree, but it wasn't right now.

Harry was brought out his reverie by the sound of Selene.

"Harry, you have a call from Minister Fudge."

"Who for?" he asked.

"Damien Peverell."

"Connect it in five seconds." Harry said, before focusing, as he channelled some magic to his throat. He could soon feel the familiar itch, as his vocal chords morphed into those of his Damien form.

"Hello, Minister, what can I do for you?" He asked.

"We don't have time for pleasantries, Damien!" the voice of the Minister of Magic snapped back.". "We're in trouble!"

Harry frowned. What could be getting the moron in such frenzy?

"What happened, Cornelius? Calm down and tell me everything."

"The Wizengamot, Damien!" Cornelius said with agitation.". "That bastard, Morrigan, he called an emergency meeting, asking for the decision for your claim to Azkaban be reverted. He's citing some laws that retaining the prison is the Ministry's right, and that I'm corrupted. You said that there was nothing that could go wrong, that it was all above board! Did you lie to me, Damien?"

At the accusing tone, Harry's voice chilled. "Mind your tone, Cornelius. And everything _is_ above board. Tell me, when is the meeting?"

"In two hours. Hurry, Damien, or it'll hurt all of us."

"Don't you worry, Cornelius," Harry's calm voice did wonders in soothing the Minister down.". "Go and rustle up every Warlock and Lord you can. I'll see you in the hall."

"Okay, Damien. But please deal with it."

Disconnecting, Harry allowed a small smile to form on his lips. So it seemed that someone had, at last, realized the goldmine that would be falling into his hands once Azkaban was his.

Well, he had over a dozen separate contingencies prepared for such a situation, he wasn't worried. But it did mean he needed to act, and immediately.

"Selene. Check the Althric Communications' records. Does Marcus Loxley possess a magiphone?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry. He does."

"Good. CallhimCall him."

In a few moments, Harry could hear the rings from the phone of the man who controlled nearly a dozen Warlocks'sWarlocks' votes.

As soon as it connected, Harry asked "Sir Marcus?"

"Speaking, who's this?" the answer came.

"My name is not important. What matters is whether or not you value your freedom and your power. So, do you, Sir Marcus?"

"What kind of sick joke is this? I don't have to answer any questions you ask." The man said.

Harry could sense that he was about to disconnect, so he spoke quickly.

"Don't you dare disconnect, Loxley. Trust me, you do that, and the next time you make a call it'll be from Azkaban"

At this, the man's voice seemed to waver.

"What do you mean, eh?"

"Why, I refer to the nice Erumpent horn smuggling business that you're running on the side, of course. The ministry never did get a Knut of tax, did they? And you know just how nasty they are about that sort of thing."

The man laughed. "I don't know what kind of Muggle trash spawned you, but you should know that I have Parliamentary immunity. The best they can do is slap me with a fine, and that's hardly even a slap on the wrist for a man like me."

Harry smiled. "But then, smuggling's hardly all you've been doing, is it? The girls, what was that one's name, the one at Ulric Academy?" Harry paused for effect.

"Jennifer, wasn't it? Jennifer Cromstone. And she's just one of many. You _are _a naughty man, aren't you, Sir Marcus?"

"So, I have a couple mistresses." The tone on the other end was dismissive,"Sodismissive, "So what? You must be a Mudblood, if you think it matters. This is not the Muggle world, idiot. Let me tell you something."

Harry could practically hear the sneer on the other end."That silly little thing they have going, Monogamy or whatnot, it's got no place in our world. So I can shag however many girls I like, and no one will care at the Ministry _or _the Wizengamot."

"Oh, you're quite correct. No one at the Ministry or the Wizengamot will care." Harry's calm, unruffled tone put the man off.

"On the other hand, Lady Loxley is another matter altogether, isn't she?"

And that was it. The battle was won. This was the man's biggest weakness, the one which, by the simple virtue of knowing it along with his other knowledge, ensured Harry's victory.

"You know Lady Loxley, the nice Half-blood who inherited such a fortune from her parents, both the pureblood father and the Muggle mum? Your wife, isn't she? The woman who pays for all your campaigns, all the bribes that you pay, all your little soirees?" Harry's low chuckle was chilling.

"She inherited a nice, _Muggle_ set of values from her parents, didn't she? Where the husband stays faithful to the wife and all?

"What'll she do, when she's told of your extracurricular activities, I wonder?

"Ooh, I know. She'll _stop._"

Harry's voice suddenly turned harsh as he continued to press his advantage."She'll stop paying! For the bribes, for the parties, she'll stop paying for everything!

"I guess that you'll lose your seat then, won't you? And then there's no more parliamentary immunity, is there?"

"Stop it, damn it!Whatit! What do you want?"

It was a lesson in human psychology, to see a man's voice go from cocky and self-assured, to broken and defeated in such a short time.

"I represent a group of people," Harry said calmly,"Whocalmly, "Who are very interested in seeing that the Death Eaters at Azkaban get their just desserts. Don't bother trying to uncover us, you won't manage it.

"Just understand, that having faced disappointment for so long from the Ministry, we've chosen Damien Peverell for this job. So, you will go to the meeting that's been called today, and you'll vote along with your faction to wherever he votes.

"Trust me. One divergence from the instructions I have given you right now and you'll be history in politics faster than you can say 'Vote'.

"Good day, Sir Marcus."

Disconnected, Harry let out a small sigh. One pawn fell into place.

Immediately, he Apparated to his study, looking over at what he called his 'British Government' wall. It was a masterpiece, even if he said so himself.

The actual display was an Illusion, made as a test of Harry's skills in the area that wasonewas one of the main branches of Mind . But the crux lay in the huge nexus of Divination magic that constantly fed it information.

They tied into _everything_:from_everything_: from the British National wards, to some extent, to the feedback from the spells Harry cast on people and the results of the potions that were ingested by the people, everything.

It was a representation of every shred of control Harry possessed over Britain's magical society. He had never been one to feed himself delusions of power, and so he'd crafted this to represent the exact position he held.

It was roughly a tree shape. At the head, the very top, was Harry himself. Below him several branches, with two being the most prominent. One was the Ouroboros Alliance, and the other was Althric Inc.

To each of the branches, certain names were connected. Several key members of the ministry, the entire Wizengamot roster, Lords, Powerful Businessmen, so on.

All of them were in particular colours, which denoted their status in respect to him. His vassals were Black, showing total control, while the ones who owed him a debt were a deep purple. The members of the order of Ouroboros were a rich blue, steadily getting darker, as the enchantments he had placed upon them worked their way through their minds slowly and steadily. A similar status was present in case of the Longbottoms, and several other houses that had heirs at Hogwarts, his influence over them strengthening as his exposure to them increased.

Till today morning, the name of Julius Morrigan, along with the whole Neutral block that he was leader of, had been white, denoting that there was no connection between him and Harry. But right now it was a bloody crimson, meaning enmity.

Similarly, the name of Loxley too had been white. But it was now a very dark red. It meant that he had control over the man all right, but the man hated Harry anyway.

Still, neither the Morrigans not Loxley were what held his attention right now. Harry went to work, as he tapped specific names, checking and refreshing in his mind everything he had on them, as he made calls, and bullied and cajoled votes one by one.

He didn't use up everything he had (He wasn't stupid), but nonetheless, by the time he got up to dress for the Wizengamot, the amount of dark colours on the wall was significantly greater than it had been previously.

He almost groaned, remembering all of a sudden that he was going to have to attend this meeting thrice, even though his real form didn't need to make an appearance.

As if that had been a trigger, he was suddenly aware that he wasn't alone.

Looking around, he saw just what he'd been expecting.

Two more versions of himself;morphinghimself; morphing into Aries Black and Erebus Sharr, both of whom weretuckingwere tucking back their time turners.

"Yeah. It's going to be just as bad as you think. Sorry, but can't tell you more than that;Paradoxesthat; Paradoxes and all." The Harry who was now Erebus Sharr said.

Harry didn't bother to answer. He knew that he didn't need any, after all.

Morphing intoDamieninto Damien Peverell, the Harry Potter living in the present picked up one of the spare wands in his desk, and then Apparated out, followed by the ones he was going to call Aries and Erebus for sanity's sake.

Appearing into the Ministry atrium, they took a moment to use a switching spell, substituting their robes for the ugly purple monstrosities that the Wizengamot members wore, with the appropriate crests for the families they were both Lords of and the ones they would be acting as Proxies for.

They all ignored the gasps that sounded, as people caught sight of their crests. Striding through, no one was surprised when the crowds parted before them like the red sea before Moses.

At the wand checking desk, he asked them.

"I suppose I did pick up different wands from the reserves, yes?"

"Yeah, we did." They replied in unison.

Soon enough, they were in the Wizengamot . Catching sight of their allies, Harry subtly gestured at his future selves to sit around them, so as to present a united front. Soon, the meeting was on.

Dumbledore, in robes just as strange as ever, stood up from the Chief Warlock's seat to announce the emergency meeting open.

As the convener, the first with the right to the floor was Morrigan.

"My dear Lords, Ladies and Warlocks of the Wizengamot," The old man said in his powerful voice."I know that you are greatly inconvenienced due to the suddenness of this meeting. Believe me when I said that I felt I had no choice. I was recently made aware of something that could have disastrous consequences on our world, and therefore was forced to convene this meeting to prevent such a happening.

"What I speak of is not something hidden from us all, and neither is it something as monstrous asaas a new Dark Lord. But, it is all the more dangerous for it.

"I speak, my dear friends, of the monumentally asinine decision recently taken by this Ministry of Magic, to wrest control over one of the most important parts of our nation's ministry from duly appointed officers, and award it to an old, outdated _Dark_ family, just because of blood."

The old man's voice gained a fanatic tone to it as he continued. "To me, Ladies and Gentlewizards, this smacks of the same kind of Blood Supremacy that the Dark Lord was fond of. It strips people of their jobs, and awards more power to a family that already possesses too much. It is this sort of thing which allows the rise of Dark Lords, and pushes down the downtrodden masses even further."

The impassioned man looked around himself imperiously. "So what if some past minister promised the lands to a family. It doesn't mean that we should suffer for the stupidities of the past generation!

"Therefore I propose a motion to scrap this whole plan, and indeed, alter the constitution so that nothing like this can happen again."

His diatribe finished, the man returned to his seat. Harry couldn't believe his ears.

What happened to the terribly cunning and dangerous Julius Morrigan? What had happened to the man whohadwho had defied all requirements of power, the person thathadthat had risen to the uppermost echelon of power simply on his wits, possessing a magical core that was far below average?

The whole speech, while not _too _bad, simply lacked the oomph that the aristocrathadaristocrat had possessed in the past. It seemed that a decade of uninterrupted peace, coupled with age, had dulled his edge beyond repair.

_Or, _it could be an act. A move to draw him in, laying a trap.

Only time would tell.

HarryconsideredHarry considered his options. It wasn't a matter of losing the prison. If he had any intelligence at all left, Morrigan would have known that the day the Wizengamot reduced an Eldritch Family's powers would be the day Voldemort danced in Diagon wearing a tutu.

No, he was just playing something he had found available, an angle he could work. He was trying to get Harry nervous, prone to rashness. He was after something else. Some concessions, most likely, that he was trying to bluff his way into securing from the House of Peverell.

Well, fuck that.

"The Duke of Azkaban wishes to speak." The master of ceremonies said, as Harry raised his hand.

Dumbledore's voice rang out. "The floor recognizes His Grace, The Duke of Azkaban."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, like my friend the Marquis of Shrewsbury, I must, first of all, apologize for the inconvenience. It is rather strange for me, given that I was one of the inconvenienced, but still, politeness dictates. Anyway, coming to the point, I would like to respond to the accusations made by his lordship."

Turning to Morrigan, he said "Do you regard yourself as a pureblood, sir?"

"What sort of question is that?" the man blustered, clearly offended.

"Oh, humour me, please. You are a pureblood Lord, yes?"

"Of course I am. What about it?"

"Well, so you accept that you are bound by the same code of honour, the same laws, which bind the whole of Arthur's court? You must, after all, since your very presence in these hallowed halls is owed to them."

"Yes, I do. Is there going to be a point to this at all?"

"Patience, Your Lordship, patience. I believe you have read the constitution we all adhere to. After all, I have read several works from you on the matter."

Pausing for breath, Harry then delivered his _coup de grâcegrace_. "So, Lord Shrewsbury, would you mind reciting the Promises of Unifications to me?"

At this, the man paled, finally understanding what Harry had been leading him into.

Harry, even as he took in every detail of the man's nervousness, confirmed his original thoughts. If there had been any trap, this was the only possible moment it could be sprung. The man's nervousness only proved that he had long since gone to waste.

He pondered once again the folly of arrogance. It took down more giants than spells ever did, after all. The man had been so sure, so self-assured in his unparalleled knowledge of magical law, that he'd been absolutely certain of his words being accepted at face value.

To his credit he'd realized that the members would ignore his words anyway, but there had, in his mind, been no chance at all that that they wouldn't _believe_ them.

But he was very nicely trapped now, with no way out. If he refused to comply to Harry's question, it would be a cause Harry could use to prove him ignorant, casting doubt on his very knowledge of the matter.

It was such a wonderful thing, power and wealth. With as much power as Damien Peverell held, he could make a very good case of the man never having read the constitution at all, calling the extensive discourses he had written into . It would never stick legally, but the masses would be happy to lap it up, especially with the vocal support of Harry Potter.

It would mean that the sales of the man's books would drop faster than a hippogriff dead mid-flight.

Not for the first time, Harry thanked magic for his foresight in wresting control over the Prophet. '_There really is no such thing as a public opinion. There's only the published opinion .And whoever controls it, controls the people'. _He thought.

Still, never let it be said that Ravenclaw's descendants lacked spirit.

"The promises are several, and rather long. Would you mind specifying any one of them you want me to recite to you, Your Grace?"

"Certainly. The fifth promise, and the Ninth one, please? In that order, if you will."

"Oh-okay. Ahem. The fifth promise states that 'Under no circumstances whatsoever shall any organ of the government be enabled to seize from any Great family any lands, vassals, or magic that they deem Ancestral.'

And the Ninth promise states that 'Were it to be so, that lands, or magic that be rightful Ancestral possession of any Great family be used by the Ministry or any other form of government that arise, the appropriate positions to hold control over them, with all due remunerations and powers, are the due right of the family in question.'"

"Thank you, Lord Shrewsbury. Now, I believe you called the claim of the house of Peverell to Azkaban 'inherently illegal'. I wonder if you do me a favour and prove that statement, in light of these promises, which, I may remind you, are older than any other law in the constitution."

"Well, that's because it isn't the rightful claim of the Peverells that I was speaking of, when I said that it was illegal."

"No, then what?"

"The thing in this which is illegal is the fact that this whole plan is a conspiracy to take the rightful claims of many other families. That it is a consolidation of power, that it is nothing less than line theft!"

Oh. Oh. Perhaps he'd been premature in considering the man dulled, after all.

Even as pandemonium arose in the hall, a cold, hard fury crystallized in Harry's mind. It wasn't the claim in itself. He had, after all, come expecting something similar. But his thoughts had revolved around the fact that he would hold control over hundreds, maybe thousands of near healthy magical bodies with strong cores. There was a huge amount that a Necromancer could do with them, after all (In fact, this was the reason why the castle had ever been offered as a prison in the first place).

The fact that someone knew such details of this aspect of his plans, however, smacked of betrayal.

However, the situationwasn'tsituation wasn't completely unsalvageable.Harryunsalvageable. Harry made contingencies for _every possible situation_, after all, whenever he took any significant actions. He had made several when he revealed his goals for what he would do with the wealth and power of the inmates to the Alliance, and one of them would be coming active right about now.

Harry turned his attention to Dumbledore, when the man spoke "I do not like to make accusations, but is this true, Your Grace?"

"Oh, what's the point of asking him? He'll just deny, of course." The now triumphant voice of Lord Shrewsbury rang out over the noise."Let me tell you. Currently there are no less than eleven Lords imprisoned in Azkaban. Six are vassals of others, and therefore out of his power, while the Houses of Rookwood, Gibson, Carrow, Travers and Rowle are all independent, albeit minor. But their vaults are anything but, aren't they? They're among the richest and most knowledgeable houses in Britain. That's what he wants, I know it. He's a-"

That was the point at which Harry cut him off.

The air of the hall chilled, and the shadows seemed to whisper, when the voice of Damien Peverell rang out. "Enough."

By this point, several of the weaker Lords and Warlocks were nearly hyperventilating, as the Wizengamot was reminded just why it was that every Peverell lord had the entitlement of 'Dreadlord' before their name.

It was a while before Dumbledore said. "I ask again, your Grace. Is there any shred of truth in these words?"

Harry waited for a few more minutes, before answering "I had hoped not to unnecessarily burden the Wizengamot with this, but yes."

This time there was no noise, the members far too terrified.

"Now, before anyone raises their voices again, I would like to clarify. I fully planned to claim Lordship over the Houses that have Lords in Azkaban, because it is my duty as an honest ally."

"How so, Your Grace?"

"Before answering that, I would like to ask a question of my fellow members."

"Cer-certainly, Dreadlord." Someone from the crowd said.

A few seconds after that, Harry withdrew his aura. A collective sigh of relief seemed to pass through the members.

"Now, I would like to ask the Wizengamot, do we consider ourselves Honourable people?"

"Ye-yes of course, Your Grace." It was Harry's vassal thorough the Slytherins, Lord Montague, who answered. Of course, he was also his ally through the Peverells, having been the Chief Guest for the Inauguration of the PBS.

"So, we consider that we are bound by our word, that we must accept the consequences of our actions? That any pledge we make has to be honoured?"

"Of course," Montague said again, this time with more confidence.

"Good. Now, I ask you, keeping this in mind, to think back fifteen years ago, when the Dark Lord Voldemort was at full power.

"Now we agree that it has been proven without doubt that all of these Lords, who Lord Shrewsbury was kind enough to mention, they had all been Death Eaters, yes?"

"Yes." Augusta Longbottom said this time, in a tone that made her growing impatience visible.

"Hmm… one does wonder why Lord Shrewsbury was so worried about them. Anyway, given that all of these lords had pledged their allegiance to the self-styled Lord, and especially taking into account his claim as Heir of Slytherin, I ask you this:

"Should they, or should they not, duly accept the consequences as they are Honour bound to? The same consequences, that come when a houses pledges allegiance to another, which then loses in a battle between Nobles?"

"Of course they should." This time, the opinion was near unanimous. The simpler warlocks and the more innocent lords lapped up the whole 'honour' spiel greedily, while those who knew better also knew that this was what one supported in public.

Suddenly, Harry was reminded of a wholly other matter. It was important, but how to put it? Unless…

'_Selene. Are you currently connected to my future selves?'_

'_Yes, Harry. Due to the spells you cast, the original connection is absent, but they picked up the phones that were made for this purpose.'_

'_Then tell them this…'_Harry ordered the AI to inform Erebus of his plans.

He saw himself lean, whispering the words in the ears of Lord Dalglish, sitting next to him.

Soon enough, Dalglish raised his hand, making a specific symbol for the benefit of the master of ceremonies.

"Lord Dalglish on a point of order," The man said.

"Yes, Baron Dalglish?"Dumbledore asked.

"Chief Warlock, the point I ask is this. Lord Shrewsbury said that there were eleven lords in Azkaban. From what I believe, he left one out, as my studies show there to be twelve."

"Oh, I can clarify that," Said the voice of Aries Black.

"Yes, Baron Black?"

"I stripped the Lestranges of all rights and privileges of being Lords, when I discovered their reprehensible actions."

That was all that was said, but Harry knew that subverting the House of Longbottom to his cause just became a whole lot easier.

"Continuing, as we are all agreed, I therefore ask this Wizengamot to sanction the House of Potter to claim as their Vassals the houses of Rookwood, Gibson, Carrow, Rowle and Travers, as is due to them by the Right of Conquest."

He could sense the beginnings of another bout of cacophony starting. Seeing as he really, _really_ didn't want one, Harry decided on a bit of minor time manipulation.

'_No matter what happens, I will remember to speak at this point' _He promised to himself. As he felt the resolution sink into his mind, he waited for results.

Sure enough…

"The house of Sharr seconds." the man people recognized as Erebus Sharr said.

Dumbledore's voice then rang out through the silent hall. "A motion has been proposed and seconded. Those who say aye?"

One by one, Harry saw the hands rise, with the wands all lit at the tip. He wasn't too worried, to be honest.

Forty-eight votes belonged to him by virtue of his families alone, (though the members didn't know this, of course).

Then there were roughly twenty vassal lords, and another forty or so votes he controlled, either by virtue of debts or blackmail. With that many votes guaranteed, if he couldn't even hold on to the loyalties that he'd gained through the Ouroboros Alliance, or influence new ones, he had no business being here.

No, the Wizengamot may be satisfied with one hundred and fifty one, but he personally couldn't consider himself worthy of holding any political ambitions at all till he had over two hundred, at the very least.

Thankfully, the number of miniature sources of light kept on rising. He saw Malfoy, Yaxley and Nott raise their hands; that was eighteen by itself. Then, Augusta, and …wonder of wonders! _Amelia Bones_ cast her vote.

Oh yes, it was going well. Eventually, last stragglers raised their wands, casting the spell. (The last was important, as no votes counted otherwise. A squib being a member was punishable by the kiss.)

Yes! Well over two hundred. Nearing a quarter of a thousand, actually.

"Those who say nay?" Dumbledore asked, although it was little more than a formality.

There it was, the whole of Morrigan's faction, voting along with their leader. Harry wondered how many would come running to him before the week was out. If there was anything this whole farce had proved it was that Julius Morrigan was now history. Still, there would have to be a couple more defeats before the man was fully defeated.

Harry looked forward to them.

"And how many abstain?"

These ones Harry watched carefully. They were the kind of people who would gladly watch their country burn, as long as they were away from the heat.

Sure enough, there they were: Scytheria 'Black widow' Zabini, Cassius Greengrass 'the fence sitter', the man who would probably require surgery to develop some hint of a spine, and other luminaries in the area.

"Very well," the Chief Warlock intoned solemnly."The ayes have it. The ayes have it. The House of Potter now has full sanction from the Wizengamot to bind the Houses of the imprisoned Death Eaters to vassalage, were he to be so inclined. And with that, I declare this emergency session closed."

Harry was among the first out of the door. He had to repeat the whole thing twice again, after all.

**Two time turns later**

Harry let his face finally form a smile as he Apparated into the Chamber for the last time.

Strictly speaking, the whole thing had been a massive waste of time, confirming a right he already held. But it had set the stage for the political death of a major player currently in power that opposed him, so that counted as a win.

Still, it didn't mean that there wouldn't be consequences.

He expected that the Morrigan faction's efforts to exonerate the Death Eaters would be beginning soon; preparations would have to be made. In addition to that, there was the matter of the traitor.

Oh yes, Harry's busy days had already started.

Aaand, that's done.

It was difficult to write as hell, especially as my classes have started back up now, but it's done now, and here you are.

As always, review/PM me for anything you want to ask/tell/suggest/crib about/rave about.

Signing off

blackshadow111


	14. Chapter 14

All right!

Despite the attempts of the teachers, I have successfully managed to save enough time to type a new chapter!

Ain't I cool?

Oh, and guess what? Guess? Guess? I HAVE A BETA! Yay, yay, I have a beta, you don't.

The German devil born twenty six years ago is an excellent help in my work, and all of you will be getting his edited chapters to read at the same time as I post this one.

Anyway, on to more serious things.

**Warning: Author's first rant ever.**

It has recently come to my attention that a lot of people think that Harry in this story is too overpowered. While some have raised valid concerns in that regard, ones that _**will**_ be addressed, others have made rather pathetic attempts at sarcasm to stress the point. (Yeah Fioni, I really am talking to you, and to that falling petal-something).

First of all, to the polite (and therefore relevant) reviewers, your concerns will take time to be addressed, but addressed they will be.

To all others who I know will not stop harping on about him being overpowered, DAMN RIGHT HE IS!

If you want a pathetic, moody, bitchy little prick, whose greatest talent is to endanger everyone around him, and the sum total of whose talents is a ridiculous amount of luck, I can suggest something for you to read.

Guess what? It begins with a C, ends with an N, and rhymes with 'Shannon'.

For those who didn't get that, let me put it in simpler terms.

Me write Harry. He heaps powerful. You not like? Take iron rod, heat till white, then insert in potty hole. Then click on red button with X. Then read books.

Oh, but don't be hesitant to crank up the flames. After all, the review count doesn't care what the reviews consist of, does it?

**End rant.**

**Apart from that, I need to tell you that total credit for a segment below (you'll know which one) goes squarely to the absolutely fantabulous author called Jbern.**

**There. Arse firmly covered, now on with it.**

And finally I have to warn you that this is another info-filled chapter. I tried to mix in as much dialogue and plot developments as possible, but there's so much information that's vital to get out if the next chapters are to make any sense at all. (And I love world-building ... So there.)

Finally, I remind you that this story consists of inspiration from every single source I've managed to lay my hands on, so I don't own anything you recognize.

But now, I end this almost ridiculously long AN, and here is the story:

* * *

"Do you, Damien Ezekiel Peverell, swear to uphold, to the best of your capacity, the responsibilities that you must, as the Chief Warden of Azkaban Prison?" the voice of the master of ceremonies was dull, reciting the words as he'd recited them dozens of times before.

The voice that answered, on the other hand, was full of energy. "Yes, I do."

It was the only oath Harry recited as part of being sworn in as the new Chief Warden of Azkaban. After all, this was just a formality, seeing as much like what he had done with the Ouroboros Alliance memberships, the actual oaths had been part of the contracts he had signed for the position.

As he felt the wards realign themselves, moulding to the control of his ring, he thought back to the events of the last few days.

It had been a rough week, as attempt after attempt was made by his enemies to try and secure the release of the Noble Lords among the Death Eaters. He had blocked them all, but it had been an annoying task.

Now, as he gazed at the assembled elite of Magical Britain, here to witness the ascension of a lord to his rightful title, he felt that all of it had been worth it. It was a major step in his plans. The amalgamation of the considerable resources of the five families into his own, not to mention the hundreds, if not thousands of magical bodies that now lay in his control would be a tremendous advantage, along with the position in the DMLE that was second only to the Director herself.

And the advantages were not limited to just within Britain.

The fact was that this had been a necessary acquisition, despite the problems it was sure to cause in the future. It was an advantage, as far as Britain or even the rest of Europe were concerned. But if he looked beyond that (which he had to, given his long term plans), it was a small part of the power that he should be possessing.

Out of the thirteen Pre-Atlantean bloodlines, the most powerful magical family in the world were the Khans, who ruled over the Persian Empire, commanding no less than seven ley lines, and a population of over five million magicals. Their strengths were vast and wide-ranging, from sorcery to time magic to enchanting. All these things combined placed them unquestionably at the helm of the magical world. Their empire stretched from Turkey all the way to Afghanistan, stretching deep into Africa.

An example of the power they wielded could be seen in what happened in 1950.

A squib was born to the house of Khan. As he grew up, it was evident that despite the lack of magic, he was one of the most intelligent and charismatic scions that the family had ever seen.

So much so, that when he'd been about to be executed on his seventeenth birthday(which was the standard procedure for any squibs born to families that considered child-killing abominable), the Emperor himself intervened for him.

At that time, the oil industry in the Middle East had been booming, and the Emperor had decided to make use of it.

The house of Saud was born thus.

It had taken the royal mages a lot of time and effort, as they wiped and planted memories, created books, maps, legends, and setup histories. But in the end, the squib had a brand new country to rule over, one which, as far as the world was concerned, was the most friendly of their oil suppliers.

And not one Muggle knew of it till date, none realized that there never had been any period of time called the first or the second state, that the place which today was Saudi Arabia had been a fully democratic nation barely half a dozen decades ago.

But that, like all Muggle affairs, was an insignificant matter. What was relevant, was that the ICW knew of it the whole time, but had simply not dared to act.

But he was getting off track. The families that came after the Khans in terms of power were the Suryavanshis, and the Chandravanshis, followed by the far-eastern Samurai and shinobi clans of Xiaung and Uzumaki. These families had their own empires, with Meluha (the Suryavanshi kingdom) stretching from the borders of Afghanistan to Uttar Pradesh in Muggle India, and Swadeep (The Chandravanshi kingdom, stretching all the way from the Uttar Pradesh, to China.

China, Japan, and Korea, all were ruled by the last two Asian families, of course.

It wasn't quite so simple, as there were several vassal families, their own equivalents of Ancient and Noble houses, and so on, but this was the idea.

_Then _there were the Flamels, who, for all that the Asians controlled their national treasuries, were undoubtedly the wealthiest family in the world.

Compared to them, Harry's four families were hardly worth any consideration, even. There would come a time when he would be able to take them on, even crush them effortlessly. But it was a long ways away. As things were, he _might_ be able to take on the Flamels, but it was a sketchy matter at best.

Still, this was how things were now, even though he had plans in motion that would be shortening the odds considerably in the near future.

After all, Ali Bashir had joined Ouroboros just a few days ago; shortly after Althric Artificers had signed a deal to import high-luxury carpets (Jenkins having _finally _come through). Seeing as the Bashirs were one of the most trusted vassal families of the Great Khan, it was another significant step.

So… yes, Azkaban was a big achievement.

Soon, he was down from the podium, mingling with the guests. He caught snatches of conversations, revolving mainly around himself, along with the choosing of the Triwizard champions that would be happening at Hogwarts tonight.

He smiled as he thought of the expressions that would be seen on several faces that would no doubt be seen when his name was announced as Hogwarts' champion. The smile soon disappeared, as he remembered something. The senior year Gryffindors were proving problematic.

Harry supposed he could understand their point of view. For three years he had ignored all his fame and power, running away from it, trying to be normal, as he'd been taught by the Dursleys and magically forced into by Dumbledore. Now here he was, rich, powerful and fully aware of it, which made him a major contender for the position of top dog in Gryffindor. They didn't understand that control over something as tiny as a group of students was so far down on his list of objectives that it was practically invisible.

No, they didn't understand that at all. Just like Snape, they saw only the son of James Potter, the man who had ruled the whole school by the time he was Harry's age; and thus had decided to oppose him. There was very little evidence of it, but Katie Bell was his vassal, and had dutifully reported everything that had been fed into her ears by Johnson and Spinnet, not to mention the Weasley brothers.

It was a pity, really. Harry had no intentions, as of yet, to stake a claim at Gryffindor or the school's student population. They still had months of uninterrupted supremacy to enjoy, but if they tried to poke him, he would make absolutely sure that they drew back a stump.

Who knew, destroying them might even prove amusing to some degree.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Harry saw that the time for the function was drawing to a close. Soon, the guests were departing, and it was within a couple of hours that Harry was left alone in what was now his domain.

As soon as the last of the visitors were gone, Harry turned, Apparating to his study in the Castle. There, he moved to the window, before channelling magic into his ring. As the black diamond on it pulsed, Harry felt the connection open to the hive.

Exerting his will forcefully, he willed the dementors to come to the window. While the order was transmitted, he summoned an elf and ordered it to fetch the Head of the Auror Guards.

Within moments, the elf was back with the Head of the Guards, a man called Jefferson, if Harry remembered correctly.

"Hello, Mr Jefferson. How are you today?"

"Fine, your Grace, fine. I was just packing up to go back to the mainland."

"Ah yes, my own vassals shall be taking over the day to day running of the island. Well, it has been nice knowing you." Harry smiled at the man.

Rubbing his hands together, his tone took on a business-like quality to it. "Now, Mr Jefferson, the reason I've had you brought here is that we have a few executions to perform right now."

The man was taken aback. "Right now, sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, right now. I need you to order your men to bring out every single Death Eater inmate in the castle immediately. After that they'll be free to go back to whatever they're doing right now."

"O-oh okay, sir,"

"There will, of course, be remuneration for this unscheduled task. Say, a thousand Galleons apiece for every Auror involved, and five thousand for you?"

"Wh-What?"

"Oh, you drive a hard bargain. Fine; two thousand for every Auror, and ten for you. Sufficient?"

"Oh yes, your grace. More than so."

"Well then, I need this done within ten minutes."

"Certainly,"

And that was it. Harry mused again at the power of money. It was so, so useful in silencing consciences. Fifty thousand Galleons was hardly anything more than pocket change for him, as the interest alone from his vaults amounted to triple that every month. But to the Aurors it was enough to set them up in style for months.

Turning his attention to his open window, he looked at the dementor floating outside it, reopening the link to the hive.

"**There are a few souls to be taken in a few minutes. Send forth twenty of your brethren."**

"**We understand and obey, Dark one."**

It was in barely a few minutes more that Harry could see the Aurors drag Death Eaters to his office. In a few more, they were all inside, with Harry looking over them. He selected the five independent nobles, and set them aside, before gesturing to the window. One by one, the dementors came, and Harry watched with a faint smile as one of the most important parts of Voldemort's powerbase crumbled before his eyes. The luminaries of the last war, Dolohov, the three Lestranges, the Carrow sister(all he needed was the brother), and so many others simply _ended_, just as Sirius had.

Their job done, Harry dismissed the dementors, except for the five still floating outside the window. The next to leave were the Aurors, after having noted down their vault numbers where the money would be deposited.

Finally, he turned his attention to the five on the ground in front of him.

It was true that he needed to take their families over, but that wasn't as simple as he'd led the Wizengamot to believe. There a simple 'assume Voldemort was noble' had worked, but old magic did not assume things. _Ever_.

Had he been powerful enough, he could have used abstractual magic to simply twist the fabric of reality, rewriting history so that Tom Riddle was, in fact, a Noble. But reality manipulation at that level lay quite firmly in the realm of the gods. There would come a time when Harry would be able to do it effortlessly, but it wasn't anytime soon.

Still, all it meant was that Harry would have to employ cruder methods.

The simplest method possible was to defeat them in an honour duel, with vassalage being part of the stakes. But that would require them to actually be in some state to duel. In their state, he could torture them, heaping agony upon them till they swore loyalty to him.

He could do that. It would be rather easy, actually. But he wouldn't.

It wasn't that Harry was a kind and generous soul who could never imagine doing something like that. It was just that he found torture to be distasteful in the extreme. If done for information, then all it showed was a wizard's inability to use any decent sort of mind magic, and if done for revenge, then it showed their inability to prioritize.

In this case Harry could probably use it safely, but the amounts required would destroy the bodies and magic probably beyond repair, and five healthy, powerful magical bodies wasn't something he was willing to just throw away.

Every drop counted to make up the ocean, after all.

No, the method Harry would use was different. The minds of the men, their magic, and those of their families would have to be overwhelmed by the force of Harry's magic. He wasn't a fan of this method either, actually. It was rough, brutal, and completely without the element of finesse he liked to include.

But it was the only viable method, so here he was.

Not that he would be doing things by the book even in this case.

Harry sighed as he moved ahead, till he was standing over their collapsed forms. The first thing he did was to move them with a gesture, placing them so that they were placed around him, in a very specific arrangement.

Then, with a word and a flux of the connection he held to nevernever (developed two days ago as part of his studies in sorcery), he willed a sorcerer's circle to take shape on the ground them.

As the flames spread, creating a five pointed star with Harry at the centre, he started his work. The chant was mostly Arabic, as the language of power for this particular art. In between, there were a few smatterings of Sumerian, Sanskrit, Mandarin, Mordor's dark speech, basically the languages from every civilization to ever summon demons in any significant capacity.

Not that Harry was going to be summoning any demons. No, he was more interested right now in the realm where they came from.

As his powers flexed, a small rip opened in time and space, almost exactly above Harry.

The connection open, Harry spoke a few final words needed to hold it strong, and resolved himself to wait. It would take time for the Chaos energy to accumulate to the level he needed, but it couldn't be helped.

As he waited, he let his mind wander.

The Nevernever was a strange place (and that was perhaps the greatest understatement Harry had made in his life). It was a realm of dreams and horrors, which replicated the strange nature of its creator.

To understand Nevernever, one needed to grasp the nature of both the energy that dwelt in it, and the nature of its creator.

Harry still remembered the tales he'd heard and read.

The tales of the Creator, the father of the House of Sharr

Sammael, who was The Changer of Ways, also called the Seed of Darkness, and the Bringer of Chaos.

He was regarded by many as the greatest of the Elder gods, and was one of the biggest contributors in the creation of magic.

Sammael, who, after fathering the House of Sharr on the Earth, had conspired with his children to bring forth the fall of the other gods' bloodlines. Who, upon his eternal confinement, had gained the title of 'The Desolate One'.

Before Sammael was an Elder god, however, he had been the embodiment of Chaos. 'Changer of Ways' was perhaps the truest of his titles,

The thing one had to keep in mind that chaos was the single most unpredictable force in the existence, and nowhere did this hold truer than in Nevernever. The place was an ocean of chaotic energy, raw emotion and magic given form.

In simple terms, Chaos was the very essence of change. And that was reflected in nevernever. It changed with every moment, and there hadn't been a human born that could travel there unprotected.

Of course, seeing as the immortal words of Arthur Conan Doyle held true to a scope the squib could never have imagined, humanity had, in fact, worked ways to operate in the place, effective ones at that, but that was a different matter altogether.

He was brought out of his thoughts by his senses alerting him that the pentacles were now fully charged with chaos energy.

It was time to begin.

Harry knelt down, placing his hand on the ground with the fingers splayed, to maximize the contact his palm had with the surface. A twitch of his wrist brought a specially prepared dagger to his left hand, before he resolved himself for the pain, and stabbed his hand, nailing it clean to the floor. Without missing a beat, he started a chant, and was rewarded with the flow of the blood taking a clearly defined route towards the five triangles.

With a thought he had the soon-to-be-vassals in a kneeling position, and another thought opened up similar cuts on their own hands.

At this point a few words had their own blood taking the same route, before the ten streams of blood met at the exact points where the respective triangles met the pentagon that formed the centre of the star.

It was at this point that Harry's chant stopped and his magic surfaced, travelling along his bloodstreams to the sides of the pentagon, as it met the bloodstreams of the Death Eaters. From there, it travelled along their blood to their bodies, and the real process started.

As their magic clashed, Harry focused his mind on nevernever, drawing out and centring more and more chaos magic within him.

In a few minutes, it was over. The magic of the five families had been defeated successfully by the magic of Harry's family, and he felt it as new links formed between him and the men on the floor, irrevocably binding their families in servitude to his own. At this point, he started releasing the power of the chaos he had been building up, even as words of power tore themselves out of his throat, mutilating it almost beyond recognition in the process.

As the essence of change, pure chaos was the best energy that could be used for Abstractual magic. Harry's previous attempts had been minor enough that the small amount his own body produced had been enough, but this was bigger.

Even then, as things were, he couldn't channel nearly enough power to make it impossible for these families to be freed from his control, as there were thousands, if not millions of possibilities that would have to be collapsed for it to happen.

And even if he could, he wouldn't, as he wasn't quite stupid enough to rely on the single most energy-inefficient form of magic when dozens of simpler ones were perfectly useable.

No, what he was doing was a different thing.

First of all, he collapsed the possibility of their ley lines ever coming out of his control, the chaos magic snapping the thread of fate that led to that outcome.

Next, he started on fortune manipulation, tying over two dozen curses of ill fate to any outcomes of these families falling out of his control in any way, shape or form. At this point, he had to invoke their names several times, as the power of a person's name was one of the most important components of abstractual magic.

It continued for several more minutes, Harry doing everything he could to consolidate his control over them in any way he could.

He had just finished with his final injunction, when he felt the first pains start in his heart. As if a switch was flicked, the next were the traces of light-headedness as the blood-loss from his hand. Looking down, he saw that his blood itself had gotten several shades darker.

He thanked magic that he'd timed it right, even as he cut off the link to the Other Place. Chaos magic was extremely corrosive to the human body, if used the wrong way.

It was the reason every sorcerer was required to start and maintain a link to nevernever for a few weeks, at the very least, before attempting any significant manipulations of chaos. The chaos energy had to be allowed to bleed into the user's core at a steady rate, allowing the body to acclimatize to it. As a Sharr, Harry was better off than most, seeing as his body naturally produced some chaos, but two days was still just two days.

Had anyone else tried this, they'd probably have combusted in the first few seconds (or mutated into a Lovecraftian monstrosity).

With him, it was as simple as activating the Sharr ring, and sighing in relaxation as it absorbed the extra amount of chaos magic.

Still, what was done was done was done, Harry thought as a wordless spell restored his hand to pristine condition, except for a small scar. Those with the eyes to see might have noticed the near microscopic sized sigil for 'master' in high Atlantean that was hidden in it, but then in the modern world there were very few that had the eyes to see.

Restoring the dagger to its arm holster, he walked to his desk, where a letter to Gringotts was already waiting, courtesy of Selene. Picking up a pen, he signed the order for the entirety of his newest vassals' assets to be merged into his own estate, leaving behind exactly ten million galleons apiece in cash.

No sooner had he signed that, that another flash of light heralded the arrival of another letter, this one addressed to the Wizengamot, notifying them that the votes of the families were, effective immediately, merged into those of the Potter, Peverell, Sharr, Slytherin and Gryffindor families. Getting a simple idea (and hardly able to believe that he'd missed it for so long), he added a line that the vote for the House of Lestrange was to be merged back into the Blacks' votes.

Signing it, he cast two _Nuntius_ birds into being, before attaching the letters to their fleet and sending them off. (He'd considered purchasing a parliament of owls, but thought better of it).

Before long, it was time for the meeting. (The first one he would be conducting as Erebus Sharr, at that.)

Harry Apparated into the main ballroom of Peverell Hall, where the arrangements had been underway since the morning

And it showed. The hall was dark. Not dark, as in one couldn't see, but dark so it required a person to strain their eyes just a tad more to see things clearly. The arrangement was like a company boardroom, the whole room dominated by a table shaped like a giant T. The seats that Harry would be using with his identities were at the smaller, horizontal arm, with his own seat being at the exact junction of the two branches.

The first to arrive, quite obviously, were his three replications from the future, in the various guises, respectively. Well, two were in disguises. The third was his own face.

But that one had something different he needed to do.

Before long, he could sense the other members start to arrive. As the magical signature of Lucius Malfoy became evident to his senses, he willed the wards to allow passage to the ones who wore the membership rings (a snake eating its own tail).

Soon, the room was full. Harry had seen these people mere hours ago at Azkaban, but the mood was entirely different now than it had been at the function. A strange air hung in the room, a mixture of nervousness and rage as they waited with baited breath for the inevitable; which was the utter and complete destruction of one of their number.

Every one of the innocents present here was on standby to go in full blown CYA mode, ready to say whatever would need to be said to distance themselves from whoever turned out to be the traitor. After all, while it had been a very select group that had originally known about the Azkaban plan, Harry had sent out a general memorandum to every single member first thing after the vote, notifying them of the details.

Not that Harry intended to reveal the traitor so easily. It had taken him no less than thirteen kidnappings and mind rapes to identify the traitor, while repairing the wards he'd shattered in the process had taken a whole day. He intended to make a point out of wrangling advantages out of the whole thing, before he opened his fist.

Even then, he let his amusement show, as he looked upon the piece of filth that had dared attempt to act against him. He knew that the wording of the memo meant that anyone absent at this meeting would be regarded as the traitor, but that still didn't stop him from questioning the man's sanity in coming here.

It really was true, that there was no limit to which a person could deceive themselves.

Noticing that the last of the members was present, he gave a small cough, before speaking "Welcome to the latest meeting of the Alliance of the Ouroboros. Before we start on planning, I believe there is an issue we need to address?"

He paused, as if waiting for an answer.

Of course, no one felt brave enough to answer to that particular bit of rhetoric (Although he conceded later that it might have had something to do with the fact that the aura he was currently exuding was about ten times worse than what 'Damien' had released in the Wizengamot.)

"Hmm, of course we do. How silly of me to ask such a meaningless question. Still, it's always a sad thing, to destroy such a great family as I unfortunately am forced to today."

There were several nervous fidgets at this.

"Still, needs must. Everyone in this room knew what membership of the Alliance meant when they were offered it, and yet one of us has dared betray the covenant. One of us has gone against the will of not just the very commandments laid out in the contract they signed, but in fact a direct order from the founding council."

More nervous fidgets, as the members shivered at the steadily rising spiritual pressure, with foreheads rapidly developing beads of sweat.

It was all, of course, a carefully orchestrated game. He didn't enjoy bullying them with his magical power any more than he'd enjoyed doing in the Wizengamot, but he'd done it both times for the fact that it was damn effective. In the Wizengamot, it had saved the issue of his claim from devolving into petty squabbles that he had no doubt would've lasted weeks, while here it started the process of driving home the point that a direct order from the council was more important than the covenants of the alliance (The exact opposite of what they'd been led to believe when they first joined)

Still, back to the point (And he really was starting to wonder about this side effect of Occlumency. A mind organized in circles meant that it was very easy to go off on tangents, after all.)

The nature of his aura shifted, pure fear changing into an infectious emotion projection, as he broadcasted a blind rage over the assembled members.

He mused at how easy it would be to let this build up, to inflame their minds with rage both via his words and his aura to the point that they became little more than a lynch mob. He could do it, could turn them into slobbering beasts thirsty for blood. As a fully trained mind mage, it was very much within his capabilities.

But, it would be a very bad idea, as what he needed was a group of intelligent people, _not_ a mob. So, even as he allowed the raw fury in their minds to accumulate, his voice remained completely calm, inducing the same in them.

"Yet, my brothers, have patience. I shall not reveal the name of the traitor to you just yet. But rest assured we have in fact identified him. Heshall not be leaving this meeting alive ... That much is already decided.

"There are arrangements that are being made, and the traitor shall be seen to as soon as they're complete."

At this point he stood and looked around for a few seconds, daring the man to make a run for it. A few seconds later, he had to admit. This was one cool customer. Still, it'd be seen to later.

"For now there is a matter we need to discuss. Namely, force."

Several brows furrowed, as the owners wondered what he meant. 'Force'?

"Let me explain. Most of us sitting here are Lords of magical families. Now, we all have vassals, yes?"

They all agreed that vassals did, in fact, were a common occurrence.

"Good. Now, as we are all aware, those vassals were used in the older days to fight wars, as the private militias of the families."

This too was accepted as a fact.

"But private militias were forbidden by Royal decree, your grace! And that was for a reason."

Ah, there was Malfoy, reciting the history he'd no doubt spent months memorizing in his youth.

"I know that, Lord Wiltshire, I know that very well. The reason for that decree was to put an end to the civil war, and it specifically states that no armies can be raised _with the intent to fight against each other._ But what I'm talking about doesn't involve us fighting anyone within Britain.

Tell me, gentlemen, how would you like to rule a country?"

"Pardon, sir? What exactly do you mean?"

This time, it was Montague who spoke, a confused expression on his face.

"I mean, I thought that we do rule a country. This one, in fact."

"If that is what you think, then you're mistaken, your lordship." Harry said confidently."We have considerable power in this country, but we do not rule it. What I'm talking of is not something like what's currently happening here right now. No, I'm talking about complete power, total immunity from all laws, unquestioned authority, things like that."

Harry looked at each of them in the eye. "So, gentlemen, are you interested?"

Nott spoke "I don't know about the others, your grace, but I'm most interested. Just what place are you talking about, if I may ask, sir? And how do we go about taking control of it?"

"Patience, Viscount, patience. You'll know all about it in a few minutes. But for now, I request you all to answer a simple question. You have my word that this information shall not be used against you.

"Tell me. How many of your vassals can you spare, my lords?"

His question was met with several blank looks. No one wanted to answer a question like that, after all.

"Let me rephrase that, then. We; as in the houses of Potter, Black, Peverell, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Sharr have pooled every person who wasn't necessary from our vassal populations. Adding to it what we've gotten out of our vassal lords' estates, we have raised a fighting force of nearly fifteen thousand soldiers. As we speak, they are under the best training money can buy, and the first batches shall be out within a month at best." Harry said his face the very image of sincerity.

It was a complete lie, of course. He remembered the time when he'd learned about the real numbers.

"_So, what are the final estimates, Selene? How many soldiers can I reasonably expect?"_

"_For the sake of completeness, I shall give you a complete summary, Harry."_

_Harry caught the printout as it materialized midair._

_In the beginning, you had nearly thirty-two thousand vassals, with a few hundred of them holding decent levels of intellect and education. In the course of the next month, that changed so that all of them had at least a basic education._

_After that, I came into the picture. Previously, you needed at least fifteen thousand people at the very least to properly run all of you estates. Once I took over, that number fell to five thousand. Naturally, this job was filled in the majority by those who were considered unfit for other operations, with a few exceptions that you ordered. _

_That meant you had nearly twenty-seven thousand soldiers at your disposal. Out of them, each and every one was pushed into military training. Seven thousand, however, have been deemed 'unfit for active duty', and placed as a reserve force, with the focus being to train them as Potioneers, enchanters, business executives, and other civilian roles._

_All this gives the estimate that once their training is complete, you shall have a highly trained army of twenty thousand soldiers at your command, from your own estates._

_After assimilating the contributions that have been asked for and received from your vassal lords, that number is now twenty-five thousand._

_Therefore, this is the number of soldiers, highly trained, highly powerful and completely loyal, that you can expect to field once the last batch comes out in the middle of November. Of course, that is just the first stage, the second stage, assimilating the knowledge of the arcane magic shall be carried out over the course of the next few years, a few soldiers at a time, once again by your own direct order._

Not only was he misrepresenting the numbers, he was lying about their states of readiness. It was not for their benefit, of course. The members of his organization would know the (partial) truth soon enough, but this statement was for the ones at the other end of the listening spells carried by the traitor.

Of course, he doubted that they were stupid enough to take his words at face value. Lying about things like this was expected, after all. Coupled with what was going to happen in a few minutes, well…

One could always hope.

"So, what we intend to do is to-"

He cut himself short as a holographic face materialized midair.

Selene spoke "It's done, your grace."

He answered "There were no complications?"

"None. As a matter of fact, the men said that it was too easy."

"And Harry?"

"He said that he could've fallen asleep of boredom halfway through. By the way, he should be with you in a few minutes."

"Excellent. Inform the men that they shall be awarded ten thousand galleons."

"I shall."

As Selene disappeared, 'Erebus' spoke a word of power under his breath. Immediately, the wards of the manor went into full lockdown, sealing all exits, disconnecting all communication links, and finally, destroying the spells that he'd allowed the traitor to carry till now.

Speaking of traitors, he glanced at the sweating man.

As if he sensed it, the man said. "What was that, your grace?"

"Oh, Lord Yaxley, nothing much," Harry said with a shark-like grin. "Just a magical nexus of mine, informing me that something Harry had decided needed doing was done now."

"If I may be bold enough to ask, what exactly was it?"

"Oh, I went with a few men and burned down your manor with your whole family inside. Nothing much, like he said." A different voice said from the doorway.

As heads turned, the little elf standing to the side announced "Presenting His Grace Harry Potter, The Duke of Gryphonsworth and Parsellsia." In its squeaking voice

Yaxley's face turned chalky. "Wh-what?"

"Oh come on, Lord Yaxley. You didn't expect me to leave them alive after your betrayal, did you? Although I admit, you know your wards. It took me a whole minute to destroy them, not to mention the stone guardians you'd setup. A nice touch."

No one watching Harry's face could have spotted the lie. He was good with wards, but not _that _good so soon. But he did have the power of a ley-line at his fingertips. To be honest, he _had_ made an inspection of the wards, _had_ found the gaps he would normally have exploited, but instead of latching onto one of the holes and then unravelling the rest through it, he'd decided to save time, and simply battered through them with brute force.

There wasn't a keystone made that could match a human body's ability to channel magic, and that was what Harry had taken advantage of. Even so, was anyone in the room to know just how drained he currently felt, he doubted they'd have hesitated in ripping out his throat.

Hence the bluster

Harry wasn't _too _worried, as even as he stood he could feel the potions he'd taken just minutes ago do their work, powered from the magic that was even now seeping slowly from the ley line into his core. He would be back to peak performance in a few hours at best, but for now Yaxley would have to be taken care of by one of his other selves.

Speaking of which, Harry's attention refocused on the man whose bloodline he'd just extinguished. He saw that the man was even now standing there, gaping, unable to believe that he was now the last Yaxley in Britain.

'_Serves him right_' Harry thought. He knew the methods that were used to neutralize oaths as strong as the ones this man had been made to swear when he was inducted, and the most innocent of them involved at least five separate human sacrifices.

He and his family were no saints. (And at this Harry had to wonder just why he was justifying this to himself. It wasn't as if he'd hesitate before burning down the Vatican on Christmas if he could gain anything out of it.)

Still, Harry nodded to his counterparts, and watched their wands leapt to their hands, even as Yaxley's grief consolidated into grim resolve. As the man's magic took the tell-tale shade of a Lord of Magick angered, Harry couldn't help the thrill of anticipation that ran through him.

Lysander Yaxley had been the champion of the European underground duelling circuit for three years. After that he'd been a highly capable inner circle Death Eater, before he'd put on the ring that had made him the Yaxley of Yaxley. As Harry saw the politician give way to the mass murderer within, he couldn't help but think that this was going to be different from crushing Snape.

He wasn't disappointed.

The first curse to leave Yaxley's wand was a layered set of nine spells, each and every one of them capable of delivering a painful death, all of them of wildly different natures, which meant that anyone hoping to stop it with a generic shield was in for a surprise.

Thankfully, after all was said and done they were still wand-spells, meaning that they were, in essence, packages of magic wrapped in intent. As the jet of light neared Harry, it simply fizzled out, the spell deconstructed by the simple act of snapping the bond between intent and power.

This trick had left Snape gaping for several seconds. All it did to Yaxley was to make him grunt, before he modified his next spell mid-casting, adding what Harry knew was an addendum to protect against Harry's exact trick.

Dodging out of the way, Harry spoke a phrase in Celtic. Immediately, vines erupted from the floor with blinding speed, latching onto his opponent's legs. Vampire vines, which bulged as they started feasting on the man's blood

Only to crumble into dust moments later, even as the man let loose with three consecutive killing curses.

Harry could have cursed. The man knew Blood-magic then, and was good as it, as the ritual to make one's blood poisonous wasn't an easy one. Executing a pirouette to avoid the spells, he drew upon heavily on power from the ley line, conjuring a pride of lions(well, not a pride per se, as it was only male ones, but still) into being.

A few words of power had the Lions immune from all physical harm, followed by a Parsel spell that bestowed upon them the power to shed their hides as a snake shed its skin. This, in addition to the fact that they were immune to fire, ensured that they would survive even Avada Kedavra curses.

Such was the speed which Harry had developed after a continuous training of nearly a full decade that all this was executed in less than a full second. Even so, the lions barely managed to jump in the way of the next barrage of spells that were unleashed onto Harry by Yaxley.

Now had Harry released these lions in any Muggle city, he could have expected them to run its streets crimson within a few hours. Against a fully trained and highly capable wizard, well, they would be able to buy him a few seconds, at least.

It was all he would need. As the focus of the crowd centred on Yaxley as he tried spell after spell to destroy the lions. He caught the eyes of his Damien counterpart, the one for whom this was happening for the first time, and gave a tiny nod.

A few seconds later, as the last of Harry's Lions exploded into black mist, Yaxley's eyes sought out Harry once again. They found him as he moved towards the man, fingers making a simple gesture that brought into being needles of ice all around the man.

Yaxley's eyes widened, even as he channelled magic to his legs, augmenting them as he jumped high in the air.

In the confusion, no one noticed that the robes of the caster of the spell had barely finished making the colour change from the Peverell black to the Potter blue, nor did they see that the reverse had also just been completed barely a few feet from him.

Even as he came down, Harry could see Yaxley's wand moving, as he wrought what was no doubt a highly complicated spell.

But things were different now. Moments ago the Harry who'd been fighting the man had been bone-tired from breaking down millennia old wards. Yaxley had been a threat for _him_.

Now…

Harry turned around fingers shaping a gesture as he released a full set of Enochian spells at his opponent. The man dodged them, fire erupting from the tip of his wand, coming at Harry in the form of a bird.

It wasn't quite Fiendfyre, but the next worst thing. Leaping backwards, Harry released a pulse of magic, intended to simply overwhelm all magic it came in contact with.

It worked. The man's next spell stopped dead even as the fire fizzled out, the magic keeping it in shape destroyed. Seizing the advantage, Harry spoke a phrase in Old Norse, the results showing as a black cloud took shape over Yaxley.

Even as Harry released a set of spells that would increase gravity for Yaxley by an order of magnitude, the cloud rumbled, before a rain of steel descended from it. Daggers, knives, Long swords, Katana, Japanese kunai knives, just about every bladed weapon that had ever been used (and which Harry knew of) was present in the downpour.

Not that Harry expected the war spell to do much damage.

He was right. Even with his movements sluggish as if he was moving through custard, Yaxley managed to conjure a solid block of stone that covered him for several feet in all directions. The only thing that got through was a small, metallic bladed disk, a _Chakram _if Harry was correct in his Sanskrit.

It hit the man in his shoulder, cutting through several inches of flesh, before shattering as the enchantments the man had on himself reconstituted from the pulse Harry had released a few minutes ago.

Harry watched as the muscle on Yaxley's shoulder started to knit itself back together, no doubt a result of the blood-magic the man had done.

Speaking of blood magic, Harry palmed the blade of the Chakram, which had appeared in his wrist holster the moment it had been shattered. A thought brought out a specially prepared doll into his figure, his lips shaping into a tiny smile as he wiped the blade onto it.

It widened when he realized that the blood remained as it was, instead of turning into acid or simply vanishing. The reason for this was a long story, as it involved a Sharr lord who'd released deliberate misinformation in the form of a book stating that the blood poisoning ritual also worked as a ritual to make one immune from offensive blood-magic.

Spotting the expression on Harry's face and somehow managing to mistake it for one of fear (A human's capacity at self-deception showing up again); Yaxley taunted "What happened, _your grace?_ Scared?"

Harry didn't bother with an answer. He realized now that Yaxley never really intended to achieve anything from his little tantrum. He knew that his life was over the moment he entered wards controlled by a family that regarded him as its enemy. All he'd been hoping for was to manage to kill Harry, an ambition that was now impossible in the face of Harry's prowess.

Because the level of magic that Harry and Yaxley had been throwing around for the last several minutes wasn't something many people could sustain for any length of time, and one way or another Yaxley wasn't going to manage more than two or three more spells.

Not that he would be getting the chance. As the last droplet of blood was transferred from the blade to the doll, Harry spoke a word. Immediately, he could feel its power take hold, the runes on the doll glowing as the voodoo connection was made.

That point onwards Harry quite literally held Yaxley's life in his hands, and it showed, as with a simple spark that appeared when he snapped his fingers, both the doll and the man burst into flame. This time there wasn't a spell on Earth that could have saved Yaxley, and soon enough all that was left of him was a charred, blackened husk.

The man dead, Harry felt the presence of the magic of House Yaxley start to fade away, with the ring on the man's finger glow brighter and brighter, preparing to transport itself to the Yaxley vault at Gringotts.

Not if Harry had anything to say about it. He darted ahead, fingers closing around what remained of Yaxley's wrist, before he tore it off from the forearm with a savage movement. A few deft movements saw the finger pulled out of the hand, before Harry held the (now red hot) ring in his own hand. He ignored the burn in his hand, as he brought the full might of his magic to bear, before he put on the ring.

Immediately, even as he cut his finger to allow his blood to cover the ring in its entirety, he could feel the Yaxley family magic start to fight against him.

But it was a foregone conclusion. There existed a considerable amount of power in the act of slaying the Lord of an Ancient and Noble family, particularly where claiming power over said family was concerned. As his families' magic overwhelmed the Yaxleys, Harry spoke the words.

"I, Harry James Potter, Slayer of Lysander Yaxley, claim dominion over all rights, assets and powers of the House of Yaxley, as is my due by the Right of Conquest. So I command, thus it is."

With that, it was done. They struggled some more, but Harry could feel the magic of the House of Yaxley take a definitive subordinate tinge, even numerous bonds formed, asserting the full control of Harry over the ring, which, in turn, controlled all that there was in the House of Yaxley.

The aftermath of the impromptu battle was rather tiresome, as Harry was forced to order two whole rounds of Brandy to calm the nerves of the members. Eventually, the meeting moved forward.

Unsurprisingly, no one said a word about what had just gone on between them.

That was to be expected, however. The right of conquest was older than any of the current nations of Earth, and it was especially ingrained in British culture.

You kept what you killed. That was all there was to it.

"As I was saying, it is a fact that most of us control a significant number of Vassals, who are bound to obey us no matter what we command. My proposal is that, much as our ancestors did such a long time ago, we arm them, contributing all that we can into one army that shall be the instrument through which we shall secure for ourselves a new country."

"All that's fine and good, your grace, but exactly what country are you talking about, if you don't mind me asking?" This time it was Malfoy who asked.

"Russia, my friends, Russia," Harry said grandly. "The land where no less than four ley-lines meet, currently locked in a brutal civil war. Let me explain.

"Currently, there are nine factions vying over control of Russia. Seven of them are families, and two are groups of individuals much like us."

"So, you ask us to join in?" Malfoy asked mildly,"Become a tenth faction?"

"Absolutely not," Harry said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Out of everything else that can be considered, that is out of the question. What I ask is rather different.

"The thing is, I have a vassal house by the name of the Strassinov currently involved in the war. They are a powerful faction, and actually have a decent shot at success."

There were several exclamations at this. The house of Strassinov was a powerful and well known one, and it was a surprise to the people assembled to learn that it was vassal to another, even one such as the Sharr.

Harry continued "Now, the Strassinovs are in a relatively strong position, but the fact is that so are their competitors. And they need our help if the war is to be won decisively.

"I, of course, could have arranged it all by myself, using a mercenary army and Sharr family resources, but I felt that it was my duty as a loyal member to cut in all of us into the opportunity."

"But how exactly would this work?" One of the members said."Say, we agree to whatever is needed, and we even win the war. Then what?"

"Why, the answer is simple. We erect an oligarchy consisting of our vassal families, and set up an unlimited source of wealth and power for ourselves, not to mention a sovereign nation's protection."

This time it was Malfoy who spoke. "Pardon me, your grace, but I believe I speak for us all when I say that this couldn't be so simple. Pardon my slang, but what's the catch?"

"Well, of course there is. First of all, there is the sheer magnitude of resources involved. I'm talking about thousands of men, years' worth of infrastructure supplies, weapons, hundreds of millions of Galleons, spent without any guarantee of return on investment, the whole nine yards. If we're going to do this, then it has to be with overwhelming force, or all we'll be doing is to drain ourselves.

"Then there is the need for absolute secrecy. Till now, the efforts of the Russian families and the ICW have managed to keep the other families from getting in, but one leak of our intentions, and all bets are off. The whole country will be crawling with men trying to carve up little empires out for themselves."

There was silence as the assembled considered his words. The money and resources were no problem for them, except maybe the manpower needed. There were very few people in the room for whom a few hundred million was anything more than pocket change, and they all knew that any contribution that happened had to be purely voluntary.

"There is, of course, no need for the question to be answered right now. We are all reasonable people, and we understand that deep thought is required for things like this."

They nodded their heads.

"That said we cannot afford a prolonged delay.I say a few hours should be enough. We meet again tonight at Lord Wiltshire's ball. I shall be delighted to receive your answers then."

The men nodded. They understood the need for acting quickly, and would prove no problems.

" there's one more thing. We are all honest people here. Now, you, my brothers, understand that what was done to brother Yaxley was regrettable, but necessary. Don't you? I mean, you understand that it was nothing less or more than what was right and proper?"

"Of course we do, Duke Gryphonsworth." It was Bashir this time.

"At the same time, you know that the Ministry, and the commoners, they may hold a different opinion?"

They nodded in agreement.

"So…"

"Silence shall be kept, Brother. We assure you." Several people out of the mass spoke in unison.

"Good. Now the next item on the agenda is…"

* * *

Harry had spent the next several hours between the meeting and the selection of the champions in making certain arrangements, sending out letters about how the family was going out of the country on holiday. It had taken some effort to properly modify the minds of the vassals so that they didn't cause any problems about being moved into Althric businesses, not to mention the stink that the Yaxley's account manager at Gringotts had raised when he'd been informed that the entirety of the estate was now under Slytherin family control.

Of course, it paled in comparison to the benefit, as the Yaxleys' journals had revealed a lot of what Harry was currently missing, in the form of international contacts and so, not to mention the money, which was always very nice.

It had taken Harry all of ten minutes to go through everything the Yaxleys had, before he started making the proper calls and writing the letters that would see it all transferred it to his control.

Because he was currently the liege lord of the house of Yaxleys, but fealties could be broken if one knew the right magic, just like everything else, so it was best to ensure that the control he had over them wasn't solely dependent on the bond.

Once he had more time he would be taking down and recasting every single ward they had at any of their properties, not to mention replace all their keystones, replace the blood links that bound their animals to them, along with several other measures, but the money and assets would have to suffice for now.

"The Champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum!"

Dumbledore's voice thundered over the crowd of students assembled in the Great Hall. Harry turned his head to see the Slytherin table, from where the aforementioned Quidditch star was just rising amid many cheers and much back thumping.

As the boy made his way to the side anteroom, attention turned again to the geriatric next to the goblet. Harry saw his lips move in what was the command word for the goblet to give out the next name, before the flames obligingly turned red, spewing out the next bit of parchment.

Fleur Delacour was announced the champion of Beauxbatons.

As Harry gazed on her, he was reminded of a conversation with Salazar.

"_So what exactly are Veela, in the end? I mean I have read what seem to be a hundred different texts on them, and none of them seem to agree to each other."_

"_Some claim that they are summer fey, trapped here after a botched summoning, others claim right back that they are succubi, yet others say that they are the bird-human hybrids that are so common in the ancient pantheons' legends as warriors, servants and whatnot. Is there a definite answer?"_

"_Certainly there is, child." The portrait said tolerantly."See, the problem with the multitude of texts is that they are not, in fact, stating different things."_

"_This is another example where the desperate hoarding of knowledge by families such as ours' plays an adverse role. As far as the Veela are concerned, if you want the full story, here it is."_

_A thin leaflet materialized out of nowhere on the table next to Harry._

_Harry was amused, somewhat, at this casual display of the additional powers he'd worked into the portrait. Moving slightly in his chair to a more comfortable position, he started to read._

_**The truth about the beings called the Veela is one hidden in myths and legends, but this is what the combined efforts of generations of Slytherins have pieced together.**_

_**As we all know, there exists both in our own world and in the nevernever a particular race of human-bird hybrids. While a predominantly aloof species, they have been known to make occasional contact with humans, more often than not as servants and warriors of the various pantheons of gods that have risen.**_

_**The Greek called them Harpies, the Norse called them Valkyries, Shinto called them Kenku, while the Hindus refer to them as Garudas.**_

_**Now, another known fact is that as a race, we, humans, are intensely curious and innovative. **_

_**An example of this was seen when, at an unknown point of time in our history, a few scholars got together to experiment with these very beings. Using the spells that our kind has developed over the years to bind the different races out there to ourselves they successfully summoned and enslaved a full flock of these hybrids.**_

_**Then they started experimenting on them, focusing on whatever fields they felt like.**_

_**One of the Scholars was a sorcerer, and he had the urge to see just what would happen, were he to summon both a Succubus and a minor fire imp, and bind them to the Hybrid.**_

_**The details involved are long and complex, and can be studied in detail in the Slytherin family Grimoire, but one can just say that the result was the first of the Veela.**_

_Harry closed the small book._

_He'd later found out more about them, of course._

_don't know what more to put here in the _

Harry was brought out of his thoughts when the Goblet's flames turned red yet again.

Catching the parchment, Dumbledore read out.

"And the Champion for Hogwarts is, Harry Potter!"

Ahh, Showtime.

Plastering a confident smile on his face, Harry rose from his seat. As he walked down the passage between the tables to the Judges, he looked around, to find that the vast majority of the students were cheering.

Not that he missed the ugly looks on the faces of several of the Sixth and Seventh years. He could have would be something ugly coming of it before the night was out, of that he was sure.

Still, he kept everything as he'd practiced so many times, with his face confident with just the right hint of arrogance, his walk fast but still casual enough to appear graceful.

It was mere moments before he was motioned towards the antechamber.

When he would be asked later, all Harry said about the experience was that it was a tiring one, and not one he was willing to repeat again.

Still, 'twas but a warm up compared to what he found going on in his tower.

"Save the lectures and open the door - Honour and Unity." He said the passphrase.

"That's the old one."

"Who changed it?"

The woman snorted, "That would be Prefect Angelina Johnson." Harry smiled inwardly. Good to see there was no bitterness there from Miss Johnson.

"Would you be so kind to announce me and ask that someone open the door in that case?"

"No. There's a meeting in progress and they asked me not to disturb them. I was told that if you arrived, to have you wait outside and they will come get you when the meeting has concluded."

"Last I checked I was part of this house."

"Actions speak louder than words in Godric's house, young man, and I don't approve of your actions!" Several nearby paintings cheered her dressing down.

"Oh really! Thanks for enlightening me. Now, I'm not quite sure if you were painted with enough in terms of brains to understand this, but I don't need yours, or anyone else's permission to go anywhere in this school, least of all this tower."

Harry couldn't believe just how stupid the whole scene was. He's honestly thought that they'd have caught on to that Hogwarts was _his. _Still, like he'd thought earlier, it would be amusing to break the power of the seniors.

"Oh! I'd like to see you try."

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

The ring of the Duke of Gryphonsworth blossomed to its full glory on his finger as Harry's voice took a tone of command.

"I command thee, portrait! Open in the name of Lord Gryffindor, the master of this tower!"

That was all it took.

Despite her loud protests, the portrait swung open and Harry stepped through.

On the other side, all of Gryffindor was waiting for him, like some kind of showdown.

He looked with evaluating eyes. The lower years all seemed happy to see him, along with some of the seniors. The vast majority of the sixth and seventh years were a different story, though.

No sooner had he entered, that Johnson screamed "Potter! You'll wait outside. We're holding a meeting of censure and we'll get you when we're ready to hear from the accused."

Censure - He hadn't heard that word in a while. It's when the House collectively disavowed the actions of one of its members.

Well, as close to collective as it ever got. There were only thirteen votes cast, all of the prefects and the Quidditch team. It was purely a symbolic and public rebuking. Two of the Marauders greatest pranks skirted close enough to the line where they actually held the vote, but both of them were just too damn funny for the vote to carry the majority.

Angelina had never been one to hold her tongue, though. "What have you got to say for yourself, Cheater?"

"I don't have to say a damn thing to you, Johnson."

"Longbottom admitted that you knew how to get by an Age Line."

Harry could have laughed at that. Of course Neville would have said that. Harry had offered to put his name in.

Neville's face turned an angry shade of purple. "I also said I was with him most of the night last night and that he didn't enter himself in the contest!" The only real bright spot in this stupid mess was Neville showing a bit of a spine.

"That's right. You said 'most' not 'all'. Harry was just using you for an alibi and you're just too dim to see it! Wake up Longbottom! He used you! You, Potter, have gotten a bit big for your around like you own the place, you need to be taken down a peg!"

For a few minutes, Harry considered the wisdom of reminding her that he did, in fact, own the place. But eventually he decided against it.

"Um… let me get this straight. You, along with all of our other _illustrious_ seniors entered their names in the goblet. Being as worthless as you are, you weren't chosen. So, just because you happen to be PMS-ing right now, you've riled everyone else against me. That _is _what's happened here, right?"

If Johnson was a dog, they would've had to check her for rabies right about now.

"I'll say this nice and slowly so that even a jealous bint like you can understand me. Yes, I entered my name in this tournament! No, there isn't anything you or your attack dogs can hope to do about it."

"My reason? I was looking at a boring year, decided I wanted otherwise."

"I entered my name, and was chosen fair and square because the goblet didn't think there was anyone better than me in this school."

Johnson practically snarled at him. "Quit lying! It's obvious you cheated, Potter. Mark my words, regardless of the censure vote, I'm still Quidditch Captain and you're off the team. I won't tolerate a cheater flying under me now or next year."

He considered what he'd be saying in to Bagman. _"Johnson is a below average chaser who managed mostly because of Wood's play calling. She shows poor decision making skills that may prove to be a liability on the Pitch. If she is still available in later rounds, you might consider her for a developmental pick, but expect her to spend several years in training before she has any marketable value."_ That sounds about right.

Shrugging, he just shook his head, "Oh, you may just be surprised about that" He started towards the stairs.

Lynch interrupted. "Go wait out in the hall, Potter. When we're ready for you, I'll come get you."

"I'll wait up in my room, thank you very much. As for my testimony, I'll make this short. If the lot of you think that there's anything you can hope to do to me, I'll be happy to remove the Gryffindor crest from my robes and wear a plain tie for the duration of your little slap on the wrist."

Angelina's voice carries up the stairs behind him, "Cheaters never prosper! That's the new passphrase Potter!"

He arrived at his room to see that my corner had been thoroughly trashed. It reminded him of when Ginny came looking for the diary. In Slytherin colours the word "Cheater" floated in five different places.

He started checking for traps. The curtains, bed sheets, pillow cases all glowed as his wand swept by them. Pretty intricate spell-work, but around a million years or so from being sophisticated enough to slip by his detection abilities. He gave a lazy twirl of his fingers whipping up a little wind and making a mini-tornado circle the floor around his bed. He's started developing his wind affinity first, and results showed, after all.

Liquids and powders rose off the stone floor. Sticking solutions and considering the Tripping jinx, probably itching powder. The twins had been busy.

He checked his trunk and found that someone had tried to get in, but couldn't beat his Locking charms.

"Buttey!"

The elf appeared. "Yes Master Lord Harry Potter."

He started dispelling the floating words while bringing the elf (which he'd selected to be his personal elf while at Hogwarts) up to date. "The curtains, bedding, pillows and the headboard are jinxed. I'll disenchant the headboard, but go ahead and vanish the others and replace them. Once you're done, move everything to the chamber. And notify the head elf that there are certain orders I intend to give him in a few minutes."

"Yes, Master." It said before popping off.

Ten seconds later, he had just finished vanishing the last of the Bubotuber puss from the lid of his trunk. The twins couldn't get in, so they did the next best thing.

He was interrupted by Neville coming up.

"That was quick." Harry said.

Neville didn't respond. The miserable look on his face was all Harry needed.

"I assume the vote didn't go so well."

He nodded, "The vote was ten to three. Lynch and Johnson initially pushed for the rest of the year, but that didn't get the two thirds vote. They settled for a month with it dropping to a week if you make an apology for entering the tournament. I think that they threw that in because they knew you wouldn't apologize. They have 'summoned' you downstairs to get a copy of the verdict. The original is on its way to McGonagall right now."

"It's about the only thing they're right about. So, go ahead. What do you think?"

"I think they're being unusually stupid, even for them. But what I'm more interested in, are you going to let them get away with it?"

Harry looked at Neville for a few minutes. It seemed that he was better at inspiring people than he'd thought. It had taken constant reinforcement over the last several days, but the results it was showing were beyond excellent. The Neville of old would never have said anything like it.

"Neville, I needed to ask you something. Let's say, just hypothetically, that you held an enormous amount of power over the students. Do you think you could keep them in check, if something happened to the prefects?"

"Well, I can't claim that I wouldn't make any mistakes, but I think yes, why?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing,"

Privately he was thinking '_Allright, Neville. You'll do_.'

"Anyway, back to the morons downstairs. We should get going, shouldn't we?"

"Yeah, OK."

In a few minutes, Harry was again face to face with the grim faced 'Leaders of the house'. Before he could open his mouth, they'd thrust a scroll in his hands.

Harry opened it. Skimming over the content, it was pretty much what Neville had said upstairs, with a couple of minor diversions. He took his time going through the signatories. None of them knew it, but any hopes for the 'yes's ever having any sort of legitimate carrier were already history.

On the other hand, the 'no's' lives were already set. But all that was for later. Right now…

Harry tossed the scroll carelessly towards Johnson, smiling at the look that appeared on her face when it burst into flames at a few feet from her face. His smile got wider as she screamed, even as the scroll crumbled into soot moments before touching her.

Chuckling, he walked casually over to the most comfortable of the armchairs, which morphed into a golden throne while he was settling into it.

Showmanship was every bit as powerful a weapon as anything else, and Harry had learned from the best for long enough that by now he _was_ the best.

As the eyes of the students widened, Harry spoke in a drawl. "Well, you're done with your attempt to punish me now, or are there more muscles that you want to flex?"

No one spoke.

"Well, I do hope that you're done. 'Coz it's my turn now."

"I mean, come on? You lot, passing sentence on me, the bloody _Lord_ of this _whole castle_? Preposterous, let me tell you."

"Ahem. Let's see. First of all, there is Quidditch."

"Katie? You signed under no, if I remember correctly?"

"Yes, Harry, and I'm already off the team."

"No, you're not. Everyone else is, though."

"What!?" was the outcry.

"Yes. Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, and Weasley, you're all banned for the whole of your Hogwarts carriers, effective immediately."

Turning back to Katie, he said. "Congratulations, Captain."

Any doubts about his words died before they were ever expressed, courtesy mainly of the fact that the badge disappeared from Johnson's robes, appearing on Bell's in a small flash of light.

"Now, there is the matter of the rest of you."

"Wh-what, Potter?"

"Oh please. Ten people voted against me. Four are off the team, and the rest are no longer prefects."

He was interrupted by more flashes of light as six badges clattered to the floor.

"But apart from that… well, I'm a nice and kind person, so I won't be too harsh."

"Let's see. Permanent ban on Hogsmeade visits, along with the same on seeing any Triwizard tasks, coupled with detention with Snape for two weeks straight, to be served together. Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Well, see how easy I'm letting you off! Now off to beds you go! Toodles!"

"Oh, and Neville?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I'm sorry. I lied. What I asked you upwards wasn't a hypothetical question at all. You're appointed Deputy Gryffindor house captain, effective immediately."

With yet another flash of light, a new badge appeared on Neville's robes, carryingthe Gryffindor lion with a small 'DC' overlaid on it.

"And while we're at it, Melissa McIntyre (one of the few seventh years that had voted in his favour) is the new House captain of Gryffindor. Both of you have the responsibilities of the prefects for the foreseeable future, till you give me six names that I can appoint as prefects"

"Well, that'll be all, then."

Harry strode out of the tower. As he went, he wondered about what had just happened. What he'd done was petty, small minded, and a gross abuse of power. It was something, that had there been any other way worth considering, he'd have never, ever have even thought of using.

But it was the most effective means to get his points across, so there he was.

But he could contemplate all that later. Right now, he had a ball to attend and a date to pick up for it.

Even as he rushed down the stairs, Harry's mind went back to when he'd asked her. For all his decisiveness, it had taken him nearly a full week to decide.

It sure was a great thing that, barring a few, there had never been any possibility of any girl out there _refusing_ him, as that would've added a whole another headache. But in the end there had been very few requirements he had.

A high birth (ancient and noble and/or a multimillionaire family), the correct connections, and importantly, maturity enough to understand that going to a ball together did not, in fact, make them star crossed lovers.

Because at the current point of his life, Harry needed girl troubles just about as much as Salazar needed pants. Romance was a weapon he knew he'd have to use eventually, but it would have to be on his terms.

So… yes, the only real considerations he had right now were the practical advantage that could be extracted out of someone.

There were, in fact, limits to this however. (There did not exist any prize on Earth, _including_ the entirety of the magical population out there swearing absolute loyalty to him then and there that could have caused him to take McGonagall, for example).

Of course, when all was said and done, he did end up asking one of the few girls who could've afforded to turn him down and not being declared insane by her peers.

Irony was like that.

Ten minutes, a quick trip to Potter Manor via the Chamber and a change of clothes later, Harry was standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest at the inner entrance to the great hall, dressed in a set of dress robes he'd bought a few days ago for this very occasion. (Pure acromantula silk, a few small jewels here and there, the best cut to be had anywhere in the world, the works.)

And then he saw her.

Now Harry possessed a perfect control of both his body and mind. His Occlumency ensured that the few emotions he felt before they were absorbed into his mental defences were so minor that they couldn't ever cause any significant effects on him.

None of that stopped his eyes from becoming glued to the figure of Susan Bones, however.

Looking at her, with her low-cut silvery-blue robes, angelic face, a set of and, well, a lot of other things that were just impolite to think, he had to admit. Dean Thomas had been right all along. Hogwarts robes were, in fact, a crime against humanity.

Still, as the girl (well, fairy princess seemed more appropriate, but still) approached, Harry's mental abilities reasserted themselves. Gaping at her like a moron wasn't a good idea, period. With a flourish, his hands disentangled themselves, a blood red rose appearing in the right one in the process.

Moving ahead, he presented it to her, lips shaping in a smile when she offered her hair for him to fix it into.

"Announcing his grace Harry, the Duke of Gryphonsworth and Parsellsia, and his companion Lady Susan, the Countess of Wyrchwood!"

Harry walked in arm in arm with Susan, meeting the looks of the room head on. As his eyes roamed, he identified both allies and foes alike, while memorizing any faces he didn't already know. By the time the ball was over he would have had at least one direct encounter with each of them, and there were quite a few deals he intended to get through on the strength of the Malfoys' whiskey.

But his attention was diverted by what he felt entering his bloodstream through his respiratory track.

Even as the Basilisk venom in his blood burned the intruder to nothing, Harry exerted his magic once, casting an identification spell.

It took effect a few seconds later, allowing him to recognize it as Mindslave Virus, which was one of the original Bioweapons developed by the Malfoys, if he remembered correctly.

The virus had been developed long,_ looong_ ago by a Malfoy who had successfully used it to enslave thirteen of his colleagues in what had been an extremely powerful police force of the then empire, (including two Eldritch family heads). He'd gone on to use them to slaughter the rest of the force, and then conquer the human portion of the whole of what was currently Australia.

The way it functioned was truly a piece of art. Once entered into a mage's body, it simply sat down and festered, focusing itself deeper and deeper, all the way to the nucleoli of the cells. As it had no harmful effects to the body at this point of time, it wasn't hindered at all by the person's magic.

Once it reached the nucleoli, it multiplied frantically, growing from whatever the original numbers were to the exact equal of however many cells were there in the body (meaning that it was inside every single nucleus of the body's cells).

This process took roughly a week, and it was after this that the other aspects came into play.

The virus, once spread into the body, started evolving, harvesting the reserves present; fat, proteins, Carbohydrates, all were used.

The evolution served many purposes. First of all, as the Virus developed, it started the work to secure its place in the body. Vital sections of important organs were replaced, the original material replaced with what the virus secreted and shaped. The important blood valves, sections of the Liver, a certain tin coating on the alveoli, it got everywhere.

At this point, its key feature was that none of the changes it was making were harmful. Indeed, the organ parts it was creating worked significantly better than the originals. But it meant that within a month or so of ingestion, the virus was absolutely vital to the body's survival, and therefore not hampered at all (indeed, actually protected) by the body's magic.

It took it nearly a month to evolve into a form where its genetic magical abilities came into play, which then started their work on the core of the person. They drew tiny amounts of magic from it, totally unnoticeable to the wizard but more than enough for them to work no end of mischief.

Then they went to their real work. Slowly, they overtook the hormonal and enzyme releasing glands of the body, mutating them (while creating new copies of the original ones so it still didn't count as harmful). What these mutated glands released was actually the most important point about the virus.

There existed a certain number of potions in the magical world that were composed solely of human parts. Now, for a capable wizard it was simple to derive the alchemical formulas of these potions, and then convert the recipes of these into a series of magical signals, which could be easily encoded into a genetic composition.

The potions ranged from mind control to pain to instant death, and the glands created by the mindslave virus could release any of them after receiving a single magical pulse encoded to the correct frequency.

_This_ was what was circulating freely into the air of the Malfoys' ballroom, and Harry had to wonder just how low they'd fallen (Not in terms of morals, as expecting any of these from a family as old as the Malfoys was asinine). No, he wondered how far they'd fallen in terms of resources and knowledge, because for all that it sounded unbeatable on paper, the Mindslave was perhaps the weakest of the weapons they had at their disposal. For commoners, sure, it was unbeatable; but for people who'd had just as long as they'd had it to develop counters?

They might as well have tried to kill a dragon with a pebble.

It was with a moment of contemplation (equalling nearly a quarter of an hour inside his mind), that he realized that it was probably rather advanced for current times. So pathetic was the current level of practiced magic, that this was probably considered a terrifying weapon.

Of course, Lucius wasn't that hot a wizard himself. Meaning that this was probably the best he could manage.

All this passed through Harry's mind in less than five seconds, before he turned to look at Susan, realizing that she too, had noticed it.

Glancing at his date, Harry noticed that Susan too, had noticed. Catching her eye, he muttered "Problem?"

"No, not at all."

He nodded to himself. She knew how things worked, of course. An attempt like this was every bit as much part of tradition as the dancing or the wine, of course.

Continuing in, Harry nodded to several of his allies, wondering just how long it would be, before the newest topic of discussion turned to the no-show by the Yaxleys. As part of his takeover of their families Harry had sent out letters and notices, all ostensibly signed by Lysander himself stating that the man and his family were all going to go on a vacation outside the country, explaining it away with a dozen excuses, but the fact that they'd effectively boycotted the Malfoys' ball still remained.

Oh well, nothing he could do about it.

An hour later saw Harry wandering through the place on his own, Susan having gone to talk to a few of her old friends after a few dances.

Moving around, he soon came face to face with a man whom he knew by face, but had never been introduced to.

Making a slight nod, he greeted him "Commander."

"Duke," Scrimgeour nodded back.

Rufus Scrimgeour was currently one of the most powerful men in the country, and a large part of it was from the position he held.

Contrary to what several people believed, the Auror Corps was not, in fact the equivalent of the Muggle police, not even the famous Scotland Yard. That was the MLEP, short for Magical Law Enforcement Patrol.

The closest equivalent for the Aurors to be found in the Muggle world was the SOCA, or the American FBI. After all, there was a difference in the magical world between 'criminal' and 'dark wizard'. A person stealing a thousand galleons was theft, and for the MLEP, while someone raising an Inferius was the Auror's business.

One major distinction was that were they to choose to do so, then Aurors could prosecute just about anything they chose to. This meant that not only did the Aurors have much more in terms of budgets and training, but also that their powers were far, far greater.

Of course, not everything was in their favour. While the total MLEP force numbered in the thousands, Aurors were far fewer. At the basic level, there were three Aurors in a squad. A level above that, there were seven such squads in a regiment. Five such regiments made up a company, and there were seven companies in total. The leader of the basic squads was called simply the 'Squad Leader', while that of a regiment was a Sergeant. A company was led by a Captain.

Six of the Captains, leading Companies 2-7, reported to Scrimgeour, who was the Captain-Commander, while leading Company 1 himself. Of course, all these numbers were of full Aurors. At any given point of time, there could be any number of Trainees, Assistants or 'Activated Auxiliaries' attached to any level.

So, Scrimgeour was quite a bit powerful. Harry had heard the whispers on the grapevine, of the political ambitions of the man, and given the way he was staring at Harry like he was a piece of meat, he had to say that they may be very credible indeed. Oh, the man tried to hide it, but by now Harry was the better politician of the two.

"So, how are you this fine evening, commander?"

"Fine, Your grace, perfectly fine."

"Actually, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I'm somewhat surprised to see you here. I'd have thought that the Aurors would be busy at work, what with the scandal at the world cup."

"Oh no, sir. We're more than well enough manned, especially thanks to the extra numbers we received this morning in the form of the Azkaban contingent.

"Speaking of which, I don't recall seeing you at Duke Azkaban's celebration. Any reasons you may care to share, your grace?"

Translation: Is there trouble brewing between your group? If there is then tell me so I'll take advantage of it.

"Oh, nothing much. It's just that nowadays I'm up to my elbows in work, what with Althric, studies and all. Still, Damien understands. We're relatives, after all."

Translation: Mind your own bloody business. My relative doesn't mind.

"Oh, you must understand, it's just a bit strange. In any case, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Well, to be honest… there is _one_ thing."

Had he been any less composed, Scrimgeour would've salivated at the words, Harry knew.

"See, I've been training a bit in the last several days, learning all sorts of defensive magic. Now, I wasn't intending to make it all that big a target so soon, but thing is that mu name came out of the Goblet of Fire little more than an hour ago. Now, originally I would've learned everything at my own pace, but now with the Triwizard Tournament hanging over my head, well, I was wondering…" Harry trailed off.

Scrimgeour needed no more explanation. "Oh, of course! I'd be happy to arrange instruction for you in the Auror academy, if that's what you want."

"Well, that would be excellent, Commander, but that's not what I meant. See, the training is taken care of. I'll be getting more than enough of it. What I'd like from you is an evaluation. I mean, just before the first task, after I've done all that I can, I would appreciate if you could spare one of your instructors to come see just where I stand, so that I don't end up miscalculating my own abilities."

"Oh. Yes, certainly. You just give me a call when you're done, and I'll send someone over to evaluate you."

"Thank you, Commander."

After Scrimgeour, Harry spent several hours more meeting and greeting people, getting acquainted with strangers till he managed one of his self-set goals, while striking up several important deals.

The latter got easier as the night passed, of course, with the alcohol pouring into their systems. This was how it went, till Harry met up with Lucius, who escorted him to an inner chamber, where the other members of the alliance were already waiting.

Every single one of them was stone cold sober, thankfully.

"Well, gentlemen? What are your answers?"

They spoke one by one.

The first was Lucius "The Malfoys are with you, Your Grace. We shall do whatever is possible for us to aid in this plan."

"Same for the Notts. You have our resources at your disposal."

"I have consulted my uncle. The Bashirs, as you say, are 'in'." no guesses for who that one was.

To Harry's slight surprise, it was a unanimous 'yes', in the end. Al Capone had been right all along, it would seem. Far more could be done with kind words and a display of brutality than with either alone.

"Excellent, Brothers. We at the council shall start preparations immediately. Meanwhile, there are a few things that need to be done immediately, if you don't mind?"

"No, no, your Grace. Please." Malfoy said again.

"Oh do call me Harry, my lord."

"In that case I must insist you call me Lucius."

"Very well, Lucius. We need to act immediately. Now united in this room are perhaps the most well connected men in the whole of Europe, and we are going to need those connections."

The wizards nodded. It wasn't a question, so no answer was warranted.

"Begin with gathering a force of mercenaries. Focus more on the low cost, high number groups, as we already have arrangements for the more pricey ones. Then there is the matter of supplies. We need to get as many Erumpents, Dragons, Manticores and other war beasts as we can.

Harry started pacing slowly. "Actually, focus on the information. Find out who are the owners of the Dragon reserves and the Erumpent, Demiguise and other sanctuaries, so we can arrange for them to be bought without a trace. As for the wild animals, I would appreciate if you could get trackers placed on the more powerful Nundus and Chimaeras. Just trackers, mind you. We have plans for captures."

"Of course, a fair number are owned by us, so this isn't a very big priority, but it is a priority. Apart from that, we need more men, so any contributions would be very much appreciated."

"Understood, Your Grace. Now I'm afraid that I must go, as I've left Narcissa fielding the guests alone long enough."

"Oh, fine. I was just finishing up myself. Well, Brothers, we shall meet up in a few days to discuss the details, where hopefully we shall all have good things to say."

And that had been it for the meeting.

Harry had met up with Susan again, and they were back at Hogwarts in another half hour.

Leaving her to go to her dorms, Harry had gone straight to the chamber.

Once there, he'd entered, slept for ten hours flat, and left, before even ten minutes of real time had passed.

He had more work to do.

Harry was deep in thought. It had been hours since he'd woken up. He'd bathed, and then Apparated cross continent to one of his palaces in Moscow.

He was sitting in the study in his Erebus form, munching on a bit of toast, and thinking.

For all his need for men, there were several other considerations in play.

In magical war, it was a very stupid general who used wizards as foot soldiers. Every family worth their salt had one form of magical creations or the other to do it properly. Families with an orientation towards Necromancy used the old school Inferi and Zombies, families like the Longbottoms used Golems, and sometimes their own versions of Ents and Dryads, the Khans were famous for their Sand warriors they'd been fond of using ever since Prince Dastan brought the Empress of Time herself as his Bride, while the less said about the kind of things the Sharrs used the better.

It wasn't an absolute thing at all. All families used all sorts of foot soldiers. But it was a rough categorization.

Harry, quite naturally, had a large selection to choose form, and true to form, he'd chosen to go for every single thing he had available.

Now, the simplest way to get foot soldiers was to create them. There were many options, from transforming rubbish into stick soldiers, or outright conjuring them.

That was what the Potters liked to use, since being a Transfiguration-oriented family, it came easier to them than other things. And it provided perhaps the largest variety possible.

After all, if one could conjure a humanoid statue, and if one could conjure a flame burning at thousands of degrees, then one could conjure a humanoid statue consisting of a flame that burned at thousands of degrees.

Putting these things aside, there was the fact that not everyone was capable of such complicated conjurations out of nowhere. Harry, for one, had a bird whose flesh was molten steel, with bones of Titanium, and a permanent deep cutting curse embedded on its talons and the tip of its beak, among a whole litany of things that made the creation enough to probably slaughter a small nation.

One day, he would be able to create the bird on a moments' notice. But as things now were? A runic array could do all the needed convolutions of magic, and could simply send the near finished work to his person via runes, where he could bring them into being.

It was similar for several other things, but the author feels that the reader has been bored enough already with technical details.

Suffice it to say, that the full scale of the arrays Harry had created and put into place covered well over a several miles radius, spread over his various estates. The things they could create were limited only by his imagination, and he didn't have any shortage of _that_ at least.

And that brought him to his current work. He had gone into the Grimoire, pulling out all the stops.

The end result was here in front of him. Over ten thousand shrunken elephant sized lions sitting in a magically enhanced trunk, with a hundred medallions in another partition in the same trunk capable of controlling a hundred lions each.

Each lion was a work of art into itself. A steel plated, titanium laced hide, concrete bones, general invulnerability to practically all Muggle or magical damage, with runes engraved that would erupt in Fiendfyre at command, with a whole lot of other augmentations.

Of course, that all was without the Gatling guns, Flamethrowers and RPGs inside its torso, also to be fired at command. Now under normal circumstances it was the height of stupidity to even propose using Muggle weapons at a magical target.

There existed wards, very common ones, which could absorb millions of watts of both Kinetic and Heat energy in seconds. That more or less rendered all conventional arms useless. But when wards like that existed, there also existed spells that could be cast on the weapons that would allow the effects to bypass said wards.

Now, had Harry released these lions at the British Ministry of Magic, he could have expected them to do vast amounts of damage before the Unspeakables could destroy them. It wouldn't be enough to destroy the ministry by any stretch, but a great deal of damage could have been done.

Where they were going… well, it was big, as in a big drop in a bucket. They could play a decent role, but millions, trillions would be needed, if he was to rely on them alone (which he wasn't, thankfully).

His thoughts were interrupted with the wards alerting him to an incoming Portkey, one of his own issued. Allowing it, he readied himself, knowing that the device was aimed just outside his door.

Within moments, he heard the knocking.

"Come in"

He saw the man enter, standing up to give a small bow to the guest.

"Well, Lord Strassinov, how are you?"

"As fine as one can be while fighting a losing fight, Duke Shacklegrave." The warlord said in perfect, unaccented English.

"Well, that can be changed, I hope."

"You have good news then?

"The best"

"As I remember, you said that your enemies the Cherinskys rely a great deal on fear and dementia spells, being mind magic specialists?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Now, I have started talks with my nephew the Duke of Parsellsia. As you may know, the Slytherins are the best Mind specialists there are, and he was able to help us a great deal. He has started work on a series of amulets and other protection that will make your men immune with whatever tricks they pull. Thing is, they'll take time."

"Time which we don't have," the man replied grimly.

"Peace, my friend, peace. I have something." He put forward the trunk.

"Inside are ten thousand magically created lions, tough, nearly invulnerable, and utterly mindless, thus being incapable of fear. Their offensive capabilities too are significant, if I say so myself."

The man's eyes shone. He picked up the trunk, shrinking it and placing it in his pocket.

"About the other thing…"

"Ah yes. The money. Thankfully that is far easier." He said, passing a clinking pouch across the table.

"What's this?" Strassinov asked.

"Keys,"

"Keys?"

"Yes. Fifteen keys, to be exact. Each of them grants the bearer control over vaults located all over the world. Each of the vaults contains twenty million galleons, to be refilled to the same amount every Monday from today onwards."

"My thanks, Your grace."

"Think nothing of it. Now, I should be able to arrange some proper help soon, but this is all for now."

"In that case, I should depart. I need to deploy your gifts as soon as possible, or I could have my stronghold uprooted before I get back."

Harry rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. The Strassinovs were actually one of the stronger houses currently in the fray. If anything the opposition was threatened far more.

Well, to each their own.

Harry slowly finished the rest of his toast. Carelessly brushing off the crumbs, he dropped the disguise.

Stretching, he exited the room. He did not have anything pending at the moment, so he felt it was a good enough time to relax for a while.

Whoa, that's done finally.

For all Hindus, Happy Holi!


	15. A Brief Study of Magical Politics

Hey all! It was taking too long to get the new chapter ready, so I thought I'd just throw this at you in the meantime.

Enjoy.

Politics was never a simple thing, but magical politics was probably more of a tangled mess than a jellyfish.

Simply speaking, the power in Magical Britain was shared between the ministry and the Wizengamot. The truth of this statement was anybody's guess, but it worked, and therefore was accepted.

Naturally, the next question to arise was just which of the partners had how much power, and who was the more powerful of the two. The answer to this varied from scholar to scholar, but by and large most people conceded that the Wizengamot's power was greater, by however small a margin it may be.

The Wizengamot itself was divided in numerous committees. There was the committee for educational affairs, the committee for national defence management, the one for the disposal of dangerous creatures, and so on.

All these committees controlled the various aspects of life in magical Britain, and their grip over it was very, very firm. Several of these committees had memberships and even chairmanships that were hereditary, but the vast majority was ofwere elected ones. For example, the committee for Azkabanian affairs carried an inherited chairmanship, belonging to the House of Peverell. True, in absence of a Duke of Azkaban the Chief Warden was appointed Acting Chairman, but the thing to remember was that removing the 'Acting' from the title went against one of the founding tenets of the constitution. On the other hand, no member of the All-powerful Committee for Judicial Affairs could be appointed in any way other than a direct majority from existing members (this was something that had puzzled a lot of scholars, given how closely the two committees worked).

The actual method by which these committees worked with the ministry was dependant on what many called the 'analogue' system. That is to say that, with some exceptions, all of the committees had analogues of their own in the various bodies that comprised the Executive. The Azkabanian affairs committee had the Office of Azkaban management Management (headed by the Chief Warden, which was always the Duke), Budgetary Allocations ran the whole of the Department of Magical Finance, The Chairman of the Committee of Quidditch Regulation and Management was almost always the same wizard who was the Director for Magical Games and Sports.

The Chairman of the Committee of Educational affairs was always either the Headmaster of Hogwarts or the Head of the Examinations office (while both positions carried automatic memberships in the committee).

The list went on.

Naturally, the committees didn't all have equal power. There were the committees, the ones which everyone and their crup had a cousin on, and then there were the _committees_.

To those who saw superficially, there was absolutely no doubt that the most powerful of them all was the committee of Budgetary Allocations. It was a simple conclusion, money was powerful, and therefore the men who oversaw who got how many galleons were the most powerful of them all.

Simple, but wrong

To be honest, there was no real way to clearly list the various committees in terms of power. Budgetary allocations _was_ powerful, very much so, but then the committee of Esoteric Arts management (in other words, the controlling council of the DOMDepartment of Mysteries) controlled a wealth of magical knowledge that could destroy the Earth a thousand times over.

Of course, the power of the latter was somewhat in question, as their founding charter itself stated clearly that they couldn't, under any circumstances whatsoever, make even the slightest use of that awesome knowledge without a direct Royal Decree (which, given the absence of a king, called for interesting legal convolutions).

Transcending the whole mess of the committees, however, were a few things. First of all, was the council Council of Chairmen. As the name suggested, it was a council made up of the Chairmen of the committees, itself headed by the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. In emergencies, this council had enormous discretionary powers, able to take just about any action that wouldn't change the constitution.

Counterbalancing them was the Council of Elders, which currently boasted names as famous as Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden. It was strictly an advisory body, made to serve just about anyone willing to take their advice. There were other councils, but relevance was a rather uncommon feature among them.

Reigning supreme over the mess, however, was the mightiest of them all, the group of people called simply the Council of Fifteen. Consisting of the Heads of the Nine Ancient and Noble families and the Six Eldritch families, the members of the council controlled One one hundred and eight votes, out of the three hundred, total in their names alone, making it a complete impossibility to pass a law without their concurrenceconsensus.

And that was without taking into account the fact that they controlled almost just as many more votes more in the form of their Vassals.

That wasn't even the height of their powers. The council of fifteen could, by a simple majority, impose or repeal any law they chose, as long as it didn't mean changing the constitution. Not that they couldn't change it. They could, with a unanimous vote (there were exceptions to this, but they are covered later).

In case of a direct conflict between the councils, the Fifteen always won, aided in no small way by the fact that more than a few people were actually members of several of the Councils.

Under normal circumstances, this wasn't all that big a problem, as it was a significant achievement to get the pureblood Lords to agree on the colour of snow. But the times it did happen, it showed the reason why a lot of people still regarded democracy as a passing fad. Entire administrations had been booted out, broken, ruined and very soon dead to the last man, when they made the mistake of thinking they could take on the 'Greater Fifteen'.

After all, just what would Budgetary Allocations be distributing, if the men who paid Sixty-Three percent of the National revenue Revenue refused to pay taxes? A huge fraction of the libraries of the DOMDM consisted of books on loan from these very families, and each controlled vassal populations that, were they to be shaped into a militia, would probably require a sum total of ten minutes to overrun the entire DMLEDepartment of Magical Law Enforcement.

So, anyone in the know agreed on the simple fact. The wizengamotWizengamot itself was fearsome, but you never messed with the Fifteen.

And the final, most important consideration of them all was the constitution. Written seventeen hundred years ago, it was without any doubt the most important and powerful document in the whole of Magical Europe, and quite possibly the world.

There were several parts of it, but for our purposes all one needs to know is that a few sections of it, namely the comprisal of the wizengamotWizengamot and the various committees along with other odds and ends, were termed 'Unalterable', except by direct Royal decree.

They were divided in two categories, the Royal decrees issued by Uther or Arthur, and the Merlinian clausesClauses. One of the most important of the clauses was the part about the reestablishment of the Crown of Camelot, which ran something along the lines of

'Seven are the Royal houses of Camelot.

Pendragon, supreme of them all

Peverell, kings already of all that is gone

Gryffindor, Noblest and bravest none more are

Slytherin, for cunning in royalty is always admired

Ravenclaw, for wisdom is the greatest indeed of all treasures

Hufflepuff, as to rule is the hardest work of them all.

And Sharr, as it in storms that a true king is formed

Were the day to come,

that That a king be needed again at the helm,

these These are the houses, that one must turn to first and foremost.'

It went on and on in the same flow, but the crux was that a king had to either come from one of the seven houses, or with their consent.

That all said,Having said that, the complexity in the British system paled in comparison to the levels of twists involved internationally.

Simply speaking, Britain was the most powerful nation in the world. This was due to the fact that ten primary Ley lines lay within its control, vast territories of Africa and the Americas were still under its direct rule, with their lines being her own, and that there were no less than Six Eldritch Houses and Nine Ancient and Noble Houses listed as its citizenry.

This was the simple view, and like most simple views, it was, at best, only partially correct.

To get a thorough picture, one must first understand the major players that existed in World Politics at the time. The various countries were, of course, a consideration, but far from the only one.

Perhaps the most powerful organization in the world was the Conclave of Hundred families. A union of the oldest, wealthiest, and (most importantly), the most knowledgeable families in the world, the group that met once every year was something no one in the world was foolish enough to challenge. The reasons for this power were many-foldmanifold.

First of all, there was 'sovereign right'. A lot of the families that were members of this association were Royalty in countries that were very much still absolute monarchies.

Then there was the matter of money. Between them, the families controlled roughly fifty-five percent of the total wealth currently in circulation in the world, and that fact alone granted them unbelievable power. After that there were their militias, their controls over trade, and other such considerations, .but But these those facts were what mattered the most.

After the conclave, there were the guilds. These too, once again, wielded enormous powers. Though it had decreased in strength severely after the establishment of schools, they still held an enormous degree of control over Magical Education.

After all, one could study magic all they liked, but Mastery could only be awarded by the appropriate guild, not to mention that being comprised of highly intelligent people not all of who were scholars, the guilds all boasted of significant military capabilities.

Given the magical preference for power to be consolidated, there existed a council of Grandmasters, which ranked on the top five most powerful institutions in the world.

Apart from the guilds, there were the secret societies. Much like how Harry's Ouroboros Alliance controlled a significant portion of Britain, other nations were held tight in the grip of secret societies. It was a known fact that the last twenty Ministers of Magic in Germany had been all members of the Thule Society(which Harry's own maternal great grandfather had been Grandmaster of), just like no one these days expected a Spanish minister who wasn't a Knight of Aragon.

By no means can it be said that the secret societies were in absolute power, but it seemed close, at times.

And then, of course, there was the Church. Ruling with absolute power over the whole of Italy and a significant portion of the neighbouring areas, the church truly was a force to be reckoned with.

Unlike most of the others whose military powers were tampered with other features, the church's international power came solely from its ability at war. There were two sources that it was derived from.

One was the monkhood.

There existed within control of the church, a group of ridiculously powerful, and severely augmented warriors who had forsaken all Earthly attachments. They were trained from young ages in all sorts of combat, magical and otherwise, and underwent a level of training daily that would (and had) left anyone elsemany weeping.

Their sole purpose was the will of the Pope (the Magical one), and there was no extent to which they would go in order to enforce it. They would kill at the drop of a hat.,they They would burn down entire cities with themselves still inside, all at the merest command from their master.

They were not many, roughly thirty or so in number, but the levels they worked at meant that they would be able to slaughter just about anyone who came in their way.

Such was their power that Harry, as he was at fourteen years of age, who had undergone a truly ridiculous level of training for the last several years would, at best, be able to evenly match (and_ maybe_ kill) the best among them. At worst, well, there was always the option of hiding till they went away.

This was the part of the Church's military that was focused on quality.

There was the other, which focused on raising large masses of soldiers with little to no actual skill, and whose powers lied in the sheer inhumanity and brutality it was capable of, coupled with its humongous numbers.

It was called the Inquisition.

And finally, after all was said and done, there were the non-humans. Vampires ruled a significant portion of the globe, including a large chunk of Eastern Europe, while the Alps were as near to being sovereign territory of the Giants as it ever got for a race of Neanderthals. Goblins still held the whole of Europe by the balls. Then there were the hags, trolls, minor demons that had a nasty tendency to pop up every now and then, Lamia (very powerful in Asia, even worshipped as _Icchadhari nags._), Yetis, (who were currently tame, ever since the greatest among them, the one called Hanuman, had sworn eternal loyalty to the Suryavanshis), and so on.

Naturally, as things were, the non humansnon-humans were deemed as threats by the humans, and measures were taken by the humans to keep them in control.

This was done by every country, from the various groups of families, (names like Winchester and Van Helsing come to mind) to the Knightly Order of the Watchers back in England. Nor were they wrong to do so, ;given that even after their efforts, vampires were still a major threat.

Indeed, the one race that had truly fallen to incomparable depths were the dwarves. Once they had been a warrior race, mighty and proud, successfully taming regions as inhospitable as the Beor mountainsMountains and Moria.

Now…

Now they were reduced to delivering musical valentines to schoolchildren.

Still, the dwarves were another story for another time.

Of course, all but a few of these factors played second fiddle to the ICW, which had power enough to keep even the Conclave in check unless they were particularly angry. The ICW, unlike its muggleMuggle counterparts the UN and the EU (which were, frankly speaking, quite a bit pathetic), held an enormous amount of power.

It was the body that supervised all international trade (with the Trader guilds' power having been broken long ago), the body that oversaw nearly all Magical-muggleMuggle interactions, the body that was empowered to regulate all international magical sport, and so on.

The ICW even had powers to require, and receive without demur, any number of armed forces it deemed appropriate from its members. There were limitations on this power, the greatest of which was that it could only do so in an emergency, but they were few and in far between.

Given all these considerations, it was no wonder that scholar after scholar turned more than a little whacky trying to get it straight just who controlled what.

But tangled as it was, the system had worked for a fairly long time, and would have continued, if it was not for one thing.

And that was corruption.

At first sight, the ridiculous tangling even appeared to be a good thing, given that it prevented the power being accumulated too much. But once one looked deeper, the reality emerged. The whole system was bloated, with its original values long forgotten.

It was an unfortunate fact, but simply speaking, the magical world didn't 'do' democracy well. Not at all.

Originally, the system was meant so that a sufficiently powerful and intelligent mage could rise to true greatness and bring his/her own nation into dominance. As it was currently, there were a hundred self interest groups, with their sole purpose being to maintain the status quo, and keep themselves in power.

Still, it would be changed soon enough.


	16. Chapter 16

Hello people! Another chapter ready. Wonderful, isn't it?

Before you read, I would like to remind you once again. Those looking for well thought out, long term morals? Back off. Looking for emotional, tension filed drama? Back off. Looking for carefully carried out character development? Gee, what d'you think? Yup:**Back off!**

Looking for good, properly weighed plot development and execution? Well, you guys can stay around, I guess. Don't get in the way.

However, if you're looking for the process of the rise of the Single. Most. _**Badass **_Harry ever? Jump right in. You're gonna enjoy yourself, I promise.

In simpler words:

This story was born for the rule of cool.

This story lives by the rule of cool. It will die with the rule of cool, and it will bloody well go wherever the rule of cool takes it. Capiche?

Speaking of which, those of you who follow my other stories? Exactly the same applies. Overlord, Ocean Prince both are as close to an embodiment of the rule of cool as you can get. And loving it, by the way.

Hell, if I wrote a _Twilight _story it'd be about the rule of cool. So, you should get an idea of what I mean.

Oh, and before those nice guys grow frowny faces. This isn't me insulting anyone who asked me to do better character development. No, it's actually me laying out my priorities so you don't form false expectations.

Okay, on with it, then.

* * *

Magical Russia was a very strange place, Harry decided, reading up to refresh the Nation's history in his mind.

**Nearly two millennia ago, when the Roman Empire had fallen, the vast majority of families that weren't already entrenched had rushed to England, home of the newest major cluster of ley lines. Among the few that hadn't, there was the Eldritch family that were eventually known as the Romanovs****.**

**Masters of blood magic, the Romanovs had been regional governors of the area, employing under them, among others, over a hundred Vampire Covens from all threeclans as soldiers, giving them quite a significant punch.**

**It was a curious set of happenings that kept them out of the race of Britain. A century or so before the shift of leylines, they had had a major crisis, resulting in massive infighting as two brothers contested the title. How this played into things was that when the shift happened, the winning brother was in the middle of mopping up the supporters of his rival. The family resources being at an all-time low, they'd known that they didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of surviving, and therefore had focused on Russia.**

**A few centuries later, the family had entrenched itself firmly as the unquestioned sovereigns of the Entirety of Eastern Europe, while the Vampires became their favoured enforcers.**

**Then came Camelot. **

**The Avalonian Legions, in their vast and terrifying might swarmed across the land, bringing fire and death and conquest, just like they had at so many other places.**

**The Romanovs held the home field advantage, but there was only so much that it counted for. **

**It is said that the then Lord of the Romanovs personally destroyed Six major Fey, three ranking royals each of Summer and Winter, before he was defeated by their summoner, the Stormbringer himself. Still, they were vanquished just like the others.**

**And just like the others, they fought hard and secured their independence, as soon as they heard of the death of Arthur and the lack of a king.**

**And just like all others, they too burned before the wrath of Merlin, as he came to bring devastation to them.**

**Eventually they were left to their devices, but not before they had suffered critical losses.**

**Now to understand what happened afterwards, one had to grasp a few details about the Vampires.**

**There were three clans worth speaking of, being the Nosferatu, the Nightwalkers, and the Sparklespires****. Each was ruled by one coven each. Each had its own powers and weaknesses.**

**How this played into the Romanov's history was due to what happened in the immediate aftermath.**

**There is no creature on the planet that can replenish its numbers as fast as the Vampire. This is a simple magical fact, and it was felt keenly by the Romanovs, as their blood sucking vassals were the first to return to near full power.**

**While any ignorant person would think that a good thing, the families had all played the game for a **_**very**_** long time, and they knew that this was not going to end well.**

**It didn't.**

**Much can be said of what happened afterwards. Tens of thousands were sent to their graves, with the majority of them not even having the fortune to stay in them.**

**But the end result was that while Russia and the cluster of four lines still remained in the family, the Vampires had secured their independence, carving out what the Muggles of today called the Iron curtain countries. It was at this point that familiar names started to emerge. **

**The rulers of what was today Romania was the House of Drakul (because contrary to popular belief, all but one of the clans could, in fact, procreate****). **

**Austria and Hungary of today both became the domain of what was called the House of Corvinus, while the third, the ones called the Voltur, took for themselves the region of Ukraine and parts of its surroundings.**

**The Romanovs were damaged severely by this, but they managed.**

**Fast forward several more centuries, and one got to the eleventh century, when sitting on the throne was a rather unusually clear example of the dangers of inbreeding.**

**Making the single stupidest decision in the history of the country, the imbecile monarch decreed that the Muggle and magical communities would be separated by royal decree. This had been compounded by his second, equally asinine action of selecting a Muggle Tsar almost just as stupid as himself. **

**What happened afterwards was known to anyone who had access to a library. At least, till much later. This was how things had continued for several centuries, the nation engaging in fight after fight to reclaim what the Vampires had taken from them, all the while witnessing as the Muggles gleefully marched into disaster after disaster****.**

**Sometime in the sixteenth century, the reigning Tsar decided to overturn his ancestor's decree. Selecting a new squib, he ordered little Mikhail to be made Tsar of the Muggles.**

**The consequences of this were slightly better, but the end result was close enough to the original conditions that it didn't make all that much of a difference.**

**Till the eighteenth century came, and with it the first real understanding of just what wealth lay beneath the ice. Both the magicals and the Muggles were blessed at the time with the person who was the single greatest Monarch in the history of the Muggles, and among the very best even for the magicals.**

**He is today called Peter the Great.**

**It was under his rule that Russia knew true greatness.**

**As all good things, though, it was not to last.**

**The next few monarchs were of a steadily decreasing quality, till the inevitable catastrophe came, in the twentieth century, with the rise of the Dark Lord Rasputin. **

**To make a long story short, the dynasty ended, and Russia entered a civil war that would see millions dead before long.**

'_I wonder what the Muggles would say if they knew just how much of Stalin's actions were a cover up?' _Harry thought, closing the dossier with a snap. It was part of the standard briefing that would be issued to the troops, just waiting for his personal approval.

He had ordered for them to be made in a casual, layman style so as to get the point across more clearly. He could only hope he succeeded.

He made a few minor changes, before scrawling 'Approved' across the document, followed by his signature. It disappeared with a small pulse of magic, even as he heard the slight sound of the printers activating in the next room.

It had been three days since Samhain. Three days that had seen Harry functioning with a workload that was more than a quadruple of what would have seen just about anyone else in a coma.

On the average day, (if there was ever such a thing), Harry tended to rise at four, five AM by normal time, and then train in his magic and his body for eight, ten hours straight in things that people normally learned over a course of months, pausing only for a short meal. It was rough, brutal work, as he summoned spirits, practiced casting entire enchantments first in the form of simple spells and then as mere manifestations of his will, worked on causality manipulation(_very much_ what it sounded like),along with the martial arts skills he'd learned, truly internalizing them, developing them even more into a lethal art form.

He enhanced his elemental powers, focusing on all four of the elements, he grew plants using his druidic powers, he derived rituals that could be used to enhance himself, and that was just the start of an endless list of other things.

Then, bone tired and half dead, he would crawl back into bed, and sleep.

Getting back out six-seven hours later, he would summon the mountain of paperwork that was required to ensure the smooth functioning of two conglomerates, fourteen dictatorships (at least), nine banks, any number of drug cartels, gangs, and an assortment of other concerns. Even taking into account that he'd used magic to enhance his brain to supernatural levels, even concerning that only the most important topics were ever sent to him, most of the matters taken care of courtesy of the arrangements he'd made in the respective countries, even taking into account that Selene and Salazar already weeded out a huge part of what _was_ sent to him, it took at least four-five more hours to take care of it all.

Of course, this was compounded by the fact that the only documents he signed in his name were the ones for Althric, everything else bearing names like Samuel Phoenix, Slobodan Milosevic and Boris Yelstin. Once he signed it, the documents were transported by extremely secure means to the desks they were supposed to be at, courtesy of Selene.

Then, it was studies (his way), as he used the connection he had with Selene to absorb a full dozen books' worth of information.

As soon as it was in his mind, it was time to meditate, cross referencing the information he took in with what he already had, deriving new spells that could be based, and other things that any team of researchers would take weeks and large amounts of money to tell him.

Once he had mastered every bit of the knowledge into his mind, it was back into bed, for another several hours.

After _that_, it was time to face the day.

When he left whatever acceleration field he happened to be using, it was around 6, 6:30.

That day was no different. Harry left the chamber, going straight outside to get some fresh air.

He jogged a few rounds around the lake, refreshing his lungs, before he asked.

'_So, what's on the agenda today, Selene?'_

'_You need to test the last ones of the current batch of weapons before they can be sent for mass production, Harry. After that there is the meeting with Malfoy and Nott, then you need to make visits to those Spanish contacts of Yaxley's in the Knights of Aragon, after that there's the trip to…'_

'_Okay, then let's get to it.' _It wasn't quite pleasant or easy, trying to do so many things at the same time, but then few things worth having ever were.

Before long, he had gonethrough Basilisk glare lamps (exactly what it sounded like), Sonomorte rockets (basically adult mandrakes stuffed in small glass orbs with a handful of mud, tossed from launchers to go far out of the earshot of the soldiers, and _into _the earshot of the enemy), and a whole lot of assorted nastiness that he had set aside for the Russian campaign, before he checked his watch, and Apparated to Potter Manor, where the meeting was scheduled. It was his third or so meeting with them in his own form, and they were far from being out of the stage when impressions mattered.

It took him several minutes to get himself ready, but at 10 O' clock exactly, he had the incoming Floo requests. He allowed them, and greeted his guests as they came.

It was after that nearly a half hour of pointless small talk (unbearable to him but a necessity), before they got to the point.

"So, gentlemen, please give me some good news."

Nott answered first.

"Gladly, your grace,

"I think that you'll be pleased to know that, between us, we now own every single band of mercenaries to be had on the continent. Apart from that, sir, here is the list of the individual high flyers, as requested. Tap any of the names and it becomes a full dossier on the person in question." He said, placing a piece of parchment on the table.

Harry was impressed. Looking over the list, he nodded slightly. He had identified and traced several of them himself, but quite a few had been unknown to him.

"And you Lucius? How is your 'special' task?"

"Going well, sir. There are a few of the Italians and some Asians left. It'll take another two days and a few more million galleons, but we will have total non-interference from the ICW, the guilds, and the other problematic organizations."

"The contracts, if you please"

Lucius nodded, putting down a sheaf of papers on the table.

"Some of them gave some trouble in signing them, but the majority have agreed happily."

"And the families? No one knows?"

"No. As you said, the promises were all extracted by a number of pretexts. In some cases we're a company interested in marketing some products, in others we're looking to set up shop with a few bands of mercenaries, things like that."

"Good."

And it was an extremely needful thing. Four ley lines and a population potential up to three-four million wasn't something to be laughed at, after all. _No one_ could be allowed to know.

It was a strange thing, actually. Wanting to conquer the nation and bring peace to it was a very bad thing in international eyes, more than enough to get the soft, fat fools at the ICW, the Conclave and all those organizations to start yapping about 'expansionism' and 'dangerous ambitions' .

On the other hand, causing more deaths by capitalizing on the weapons market to sell things banned just about everywhere else was accepted. Encouraged, even, albeit quietly.

It was sick, venal and disgusting, but it was the way things were.

Still, this wasn't the time to dwell on such things.

"And what of…"

Harry wondered why things like this kept happening to him. It had been a simple plan. Yugoslavia, in its long and bloody civil war, had had thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of deaths. He'd intended to go there, set up a few crystals to absorb all the Necro-magic in the air, visit the mass graves to raise the dead as his soldiers, and go back.

He'd even completed the job for most of the country, with the only parts left being a few minor villages in the region of Skopje. Even there he'd already 'visited' the graves that he'd personally caused to be dug (the entire military, economic and political leadership of the erstwhile Republic of Macedonia, back when he'd been consolidating 'Milosevic's' conquest).

Really, all that had been left had been two or three pits, each containing around a thousand bodies or so, and he'd have been done.

_Somehow_, his luck had managed to twist that into what he was doing right now.

Namely, trying to subdue a dozen full grown Cerberuses in a dungeon without releasing enough magic to trigger every magical sensorfrom there to he been the type, he would've cursed long and hard.

Because, well, hadn't the fact that there was very little magic in this region been his original reason for operating there?

Still, there was no point in whining.

Harry grunted as he released a set of binding enchantments from his fingertips. Chains of pure magic flashed into existence, wrapping around the heads of several of the beasts and dragging them to the ground. Even as the heads neared it, pillars of Earth rose with a thought, spearing seven heads from the chin to the ears.

'_Two down' _Harry thought.

Yeah. Two down, and one in such pain that it died in moments from the next set of Harry's spells. Then it was the defensive, with Harry casting blocking and shielding spells, while looking for a way away from the beasts. The smallest of them _had_ to be at least two thousand years old, and they were fit enough to give him a workout.

That meant they had the space and the need to hunt, to run around and basically have a lot of exercise. If he could find it…

Harry's thoughts were interrupted as a head of one of the beasts snapped at him. He pulled back his fist and punched it between the eyes, watching with satisfaction as the skull caved in.

Those rituals worked as they were supposed to, then.

His mind continued wandering even as his instincts guided his body, dealing death and maiming with every step. It was that way, till- '_there'._ Harry thought to himself.

He saw it again, and was sure of it. It was a tiny discolouration in the spell matrix, a spot from where the locking enchantments seemed to hinge. Harry rapid-casted several detection and analysis spells at it, smiling when he saw the result. Sure enough, it was a key, meant to open whatever enclosure the beasts were kept in.

He realized that the spell must have been triggered when it detected him, and it must have released the Cerberuses then. Given the lack of any door, that meant magical transport. So, if he could trigger the spell again, convincing it that he was dead, it was more than likely that the same spell would take the animals back.

Well, that was easy. Harry thought for a moment, focusing on his magic. Immediately afterwards, his aura, or 'magical signature' as some would call it, disappeared, to be replaced by death magic that had the exact same tinges as any released at his death would.

Sure enough, his sight saw the wards flash once, before he was alone with the corpses of the beasts. Still keeping his aura down, he cast a simple piece of magic, keeping him from being detected by the detection spells in the wards.

Now free, he looked around, trying to understand the nature of the place he was in.

It was old, that much was obvious, and not just old in the 'couple centuries' way. This place had seen true age. Judging by the age of the Cerberuses, it was at least two thousand years old, perhaps more. Looking around, Harry would have loved to explore it, but he was currently rather pressed for time. He closed his eyes, trying to manipulate the wards. Soon enough, he had a connection to them. He carved a few runes in the walls. Runes for tracking, signalling and identifying, and he twisted the essence a little, allowing himself the equivalent of what modern crafters would call a 'guest access'.

Moments after that, he was gone.

He appeared in the location for the next mass grave. Here there didn't seem to be any ancient dungeon, so he went to work. His powers over death seeped into the Earth, shaped by his will and his words. The black energies continued to pour out of him, till a saturation point was reached.

Soon after, results showed as old limbs moved again, the Earth bubbling and turning as half decayed corpses walked out. Within minutes Harry was looking as a small sea of the undead, ready to do his will. But they would need conditioning first.

Thankfully, this was the last grave.

Harry spoke a word of power, willing the Inferi to be linked to him as he Apparated them all to Castle Potter, all the way back in Britain. In the attached lands was the factory he'd set up, where these would now be going.

Sure enough, Harry Apparated to the sounds of a factory busily at work, as the Inferi from his previous trips were processed.

"Selene. Scan them." Harry said tersely.

"Underway, Harry. Full analysis is complete in T minus 4…3…2…1.

"Scan completed. The number of bodies here is one hundred and thirty number of soldiers you can have out of them is an exact hundred."

"Lucky that." Harry muttered.

"Very well, start processing them."

"Initiated, Harry."

Harry watched as the Inferi disappeared, appearing on one of the mass conveyor belts. The belts would carry them to sarcophagi, and the process would start.

First, the remnants of flesh would be removed from any of the bodies, broken down into the mixture of proteins, carbohydrates and fats that comprised it. Then, the machines would go to work on the bones. The Calcium would be partially liquefied, so that it could be compressed to increase the density of the bones. At the same time it would be laced with a mixture of titanium and artificially created Mithril and Greek Bronze (created through alchemy, far inferior in quality than the originals but enough for such uses). The same mix would also be used to recreate any missing bones.

At the same time, several of the bones would be hollowed out, to be fitted with magical crystals that would allow for a whole lot of funky options. Among a whole lot of other operations both scientific and magical, the bones would be saturated with a medley of potions, followed by thousands of miniature runes being carved into them.

Once the work with the skeletons was complete, the flesh would be brought back, but far tougher and durable than before. Harry had to be careful in this, as too many artificial parts would result in the necromantic magic failing to take hold; but he had carefully found the optimal points, so it wasn't _too_ big a concern.

Once these operations (along with a whole lot others) were completed, the magical aspect would begin.

This Harry would have to do himself involving invoking several ancient powers and binding these bodies to himself, along with granting them necromantic protections against harm and damage. One of these was the inability to sense heat or the colours of fire.

That would allow them to fight in the middle of a raging fire, which, coupled with the fireproofing spells he'd included placed them among the finest specimen of undead on the planet. The final step was to cover them in armour, by fusing inch thick sheets of iron to their bodies. In addition to physical protection, the Iron would act as a secondary layer of protection against magic.

Harry's own magic, being already inside the body, would act just fine. Others? Not so.

All of this was what passed through Harry's mind in less than five seconds, as he gazed on the corpses that were even now entering their sarcophagi.

The evening finally found Harry back in Hogwarts, where he had just started his first steps in correcting the deficiencies of one Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.

"I can teach you several things I've been taught about transfiguration or offensive and defensive magic, but the fact remains that none of that will be worth anything if I can't teach you to protect your mind." Harry said, pacing around the current form of the Room Of Requirement, watching Neville and Luna sitting in a lotus position on the mats the room had supplied.

"Now, calm yourself. Focus on your breathing, let go of all worries. Be relaxed."

Even as Harry started the lesson on Occlumency, his mind wandered back to the time he'd learned an important lesson about the art.

"_Salazar, I've mastered my mind. Why is it then that I can still feel some emotions?"_

"_Ah, child, I was thinking when you would ask that. See, the answer is very simple. You have mastered your mind, yes. But this does not mean that no more emotions are produced within your psyche."_

"_But-"_

"_Let me finish. What happens is that emotions are still produced in your mind __just like in any other. The thing is, with your mind as tightly arranged as it is, they are rapidly absorbed into the defences, where you have already made the settings to use them."_

"_So for the few moments that they're loose, that's when you feel them."_

It had been an important lesson for him to learn, and it was one he intended to make sure Neville and Luna mastered as soon as possible.

Even as his new 'students' worked on their minds, Harry categorized all the things he himself needed to get ready. He had progressed somewhat in training his elements abilities, focusing on fire for now so as to increase his chances against the dragon. At the same time, his abilities in chaos manipulation were rising sharply, directly corresponding to the proportions of the all-powerful energy flowing through him.

Through the next several days, Harry continued to work at the same breakneck pace, developing his business, political and personal interests with the fervour of a man possessed. As such, it wasn't long before the time came when the first task descended on him.

He woke up just as early as ever that day, having duelled no less than six separate Auror trainers the day before. It was a testament to the young prodigy's talent that not one of them had left Hogwarts under their own power, despite the fact that the youngest among them was four times his age. Still, a great deal of work had been done apart from that. The first batches of his vassals were coming out today, and he had already arranged scheduled meetings with them. They would be instrumental in establishing the coming war, of course, but also in the workings of Althric and Phoenix.

Before long he was walking out of the champions' tent near the Dragon enclosure. As his luck would have it, he'd drawn the Horntail, the single most dangerous of all the dragons here, which had also meant that he was the last to go.

As he walked, his eyes focused on the enormous reptile ahead of him. He had to admit, it truly was a magnificent specimen. The black dragon, with her wings spread protectively over a clutch of eggs amid which Harry's target glinted, glared at him, as if defying him to come any tail carving out yard long gashes in solid rock.

'_More is the pity'_ he thought.

As he approached, the crowd seemed to explode in a mix of cheers and boos, divided almost equally.

He paid them no attention. Moving ahead, he released his breath in a very specific pattern, causing a very specific set of glyphs to glow for a brief moment.

With that, all the rituals he'd done over the last several days came active, and he knew that he was now about ten or so times faster, stronger and with sharper senses than most of the humans around him. He'd have to be careful not to show it, of course.

As he advanced, Harry's wand leapt to his fingers, ready to release a rain of magic at his command.

With every step he took towards the dragon, its head seemed to tilt just a little bit more in his direction. Soon, recognition of the challenge flared in its eyes, and its teeth were bared. That was all the warning Harry needed, or indeed, would get.

It was on.

Black curses left his wand in a barrage, falling not on the Dragon, but on its wings. There wasn't even the slightest effect, but that was fine; Harry hadn't expected any. The spell had been meant to judge the strength of the dragon's hide.

He now knew.

Too strong, at least for direct magical attacks (that he could afford to use in public).

Still, there were other ways.

A simple twirl of his wand and a Parseltongue spell later, the crowd gasped as the earth rose in the form of five enormous anacondas, four wrapping themselves around the limbs of the dragon, the fifth _trying_ to wrap itself around her throat.

The dragon was too quick, however, as the snake crumbled with the jaws of the beast closing around its head.

Still, it wasn't needed. The snakes around its limbs would confine the dragon well enough for Harry's next spell to work perfectly.

Sure enough, the snakes had just begun showing the first cracks, when Harry's spell erupted from his wand.

It was a multi-layered spell, a result of four hours' research; that would ensure that the dragon was put firmly out of commission for the next several hours, and Harry would be home free, having aced the task.

It was at precisely that point that things went to hell.

Harry would later be able to make perfect identification, but at the time he was just as surprised as everyone else, when several jets of light came from the audience.

Several things happened. Harry's spell was parried harmlessly into the ground by the spell that met it midair,the anacondas that had bound the dragon crumbled away into dust, along with the enchanted chain that the organizers themselves had used. Along with that, Harry could see the tell-tale red jet of an enragement curse hit the Dragon.

As if that wasn't enough, Harry detected the 'crack' of several people Disapparating at once. That was all he needed to realize that the assailants, whoever they were, were gone.

Still, he had bigger problems, namely the dragon that was now rearing its head back to release the fire that would make a kebab out of him in a second.

As Harry brought his abilities as a water elemental to the fore, preparing to take on the dragon directly, he realized he'd forgotten something. Every danger sense he had screaming at him; Harry jumped away behind a rock, as the Dragon's tail descended at the exact spot he had been standing on a second ago.

It was at this point that Harry felt the doubts hit him full force. What was he doing here? He was no heir of Slytherin! What kind of warrior was he, that he didn't even detect the tail till it was almost too late? Self-doubt, anxiousness, nervousness …everything that had, till this point, been kept securely in designated areas of his mind, to be thrown at any intruder, came pouring out, dulling his instinct, and suffocating his logic.

For a few moments Harry was the scared little boy again, the pathetic worm whose biggest dream in life had been to be 'just Harry', the slave of the Dursleys, the creature that could very well be regarded spinelessness incarnated.

He seemed to cower behind the stone, trying to melt into it so that the dragon didn't notice him. Of course, this tiny movement was more than enough to make the dragon focus its attention right back at him from the crowd where it had been starting to look.

With the fire still building up in its throat, the dragon prepared itself to utterly destroy the one who'd dared attempt chain him.

It was a pivotal moment in history, one which could have brought a grinding stop to the onward movement of the saviour of magic, which would have allowed the wolves of society; the corrupt, venal and weak creatures passing themselves off as leaders to continue uninterrupted in their works, by ridding them of the assured destruction that they never would've known they faced, and doomed to the world to an eternity of disgusting mediocrity.

Thankfully, it passed.

Even as doom approached Harry in the form of a muzzle full of Dragon-fire, something awoke within him.

It was something cold and terrible, something that had seen eons pass and millions murdered. It was vast; vast and so, so _old._

An involuntary shiver passed through Harry's spine, and the doubt, the insecurity, the nervousness all _ended_, completely obliterated before the power that now surged through Harry's mind, when instincts older than time itself rose from the innermost depths of his soul.

The thoughts in his mind changed with everything else, adapting to the instincts now a part of him.

'_What was he doing? Him, hiding from a pathetic half-breed not even a century old? And this, this worm trying to pass itself off as a dragon, it dared roar in his presence?_

'_Let alone that, at him?_

'_HE WAS A BASILISK!'_

It was with the icy rage of the King of Serpents in his mind; that Harry stepped out from behind the stone.

At this point, many experienced people in the crowds could be excused for the fits they all suffered at the sight. To understand the reason one would have to grasp a very simple thing.

For the duration of Harry's performance, they had seen a confident, extraordinarily talented young man, who was just a little bit arrogant, facing one of the deadliest being around. When he'd ducked behind the stone, they had seen the same young man unnerved, and the dragon highly enraged.

Now, things were different.

They were two of a kind.

What followed afterwards could only be called a massacre.

Harry stepped out from behind the stone. Immediately, the Dragon released a jet of fire straight at him, engulfing him totally within the flame. The crowd gasped as a whole, while several people screamed.

After a few seconds, the vision became clearer, as the flame receded. For a few seconds they were puzzled. The Dragon could hardly stop the flame before it had expended all the magic it had built up. And given that it had been gathering magic for the past several minutes, the flame should last another minute at the least.

Then they realized it.

The flame wasn't receding.

It was being pushed back.

They watched in awe as wonder, as Harry became visible again, like an ancient god of fire out of the scriptures, his hand raised in a careless gesture. They watched and cheered, as bit by bit, the flame was pushed back into the dragon by the strength of Harry's fire affinity.

Several people in the crown gained expressions that wavered between overjoyed, interested, and terrified. Nor were they alone, as the cheering from the Hogwarts students was now louder than ever.

After all, say what one would, but there was nothing more awesome, more inspiring or just plain cooler that a fourteen year old making a dragon quite literally eat its own fire. Casual as ever, Harry raised his other hand, and snapped his fingers.

A set of chains of alchemical Mithril appeared midair, wrapping securely around the dragon's jaws in a movement so fast that the number of people that followed it could be counted on one hand. Its hold was strengthened by the runes that glowed upon it after a lazy flick of those very fingers.

While the dragon struggled to save its insides from being roasted, another casual gesture brought into being a flock of Rocs(Birds of Arabian legends, each a quarter of the dragon's size). Careful observation would have revealed that their talons and beaks were in fact metal, and were sharp enough to cut through solid rock like a hot knife through butter. As such, they'd at least be able to make small lacerations against the Dragon.

Harry was far from done, though. Yet another exertion of his magic caused the rocks lining the arena to rise, before a whispered word recreated upon them the spell matrix normally found on a Bludger, with a few minor modifications.

The strength of the spells became obvious, when the rocks, each several tons in weight, rose and moved away from the Dragon. Before anyone could so much as say 'strange', they reversed track, gaining tremendous amounts of velocity before slamming into the Dragon.

Again, they floated away, and they came back yet again, faster even than last time. This time there were several audible cracks, as the dragon'sbones crumbled within its body. Even as it seemed to sway, they reared back yet again, prepared for a third hit.

After that, it was a matter of minutes before the Dragon's situation became untenable. The vast majority of its bones were broken, its lungs and internal organs were so much charcoal thanks to its own fire, and deep gashes were opening up on its hide as its magic weakened.

But it was still a dragon, as proven when it made its final attempt.

Gathering the last of its energy, the Dragon jumped forwards, intent on crushing Harry under its own weight.

Harry took a step back, before realizing that he wouldn't be able to cover enough distance to get out from under the dragon.

The crowdcried out, horrified, as the enormous black lizard covered their hero, till they saw what was happening.

The top of the Dragon's head seemed to strain, before it was penetrated by the tip of what was probably the biggest spear any of them had ever seen.

And then it grew, till the whole assembly could see the _Telum Ferra_ spear act as a prop to hold the dragon upright, while skewering it through the jaws.

For several minutes, there was absolute silence, even as Harry became visible, resting against one of the spines on the Dragon's back.

A fourteen year old wizard, sitting on the back of the Dragon he'd just killed, whistling as if he hadn't a care in the world _was_ an odd sight, to be honest.

And then it was broken by the cry that came from the Ministry box. No one quite realized who it was that said it, but soon "DRAGONSLAYER!" was being cried out by everyone as far as could be seen, in tones full of a savage thrill that reminded one of ancient Rome's gladiatorial shows.

Harry himself climbed to the dragon's head, before bowing elaborately to the crowds. He maintained the same showmanship, as he walked, casual as anything, to the clutch of eggs, picking up the golden egg.

The cheers continued as he bowed again, before putting the egg away in a pocket that looked too small by far to hold it.

The same cheers became quiet, when Dumbledore raised his hand to get their attention.

"The points, my fellow judges?" he said.

Bagman raised his hand, releasing a ribbon of light that formed into a 10 above his head. He was followed by Crouch, who gave another 10, and then Maxime, who, once again, gave 10. After that it was Dumbledore, who released a 9 in the air, followed by Karkaroff, who gave a 7.

Before long, Harry was back in the Chamber, after having endured several congratulations among the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and even a few Slytherins (that reminded him, he'd have to actively start his efforts to cultivate them, now that his power was proven beyond a question).

Out of the Gryffindors Neville, of course, was welcomed wherever Harry went, but apart from a few others, he flatly refused to see anyone, let alone talk to them.

Another thing was the sabotage. Harry had enquired, and had been told that the best teams of the DMLE were on the case. Harry had an idea of who it was, and he knew that not even the best the DMLE had on call could hope to track the man unless he made an unusually big mistake.

It was several hours afterwards, when he finally got some time alone, that got the time to practise his transformation.

Harry allowed the transformational energies wash over him, as he stepped out of one of the chamber's many exits, this one right in the middle of the forbidden forest.

He'd turned before, but it had never been, well, real, so as to say. He'd always felt as if he was faking it, and that moment was when he realized that he'd been right.

He _had _been faking it.

All thoughts faded from his mind as the pain started, sparking along his spine and ribs and running down to his tailbone. Harry bit back a scream as his spine grew hundreds more vertebrae and his ribs and lungs extended. The rearrangement of his internal organs hurt horribly, but Harry knew that it was a very needful thing, if he was to ever complete his transformation.

Slowly the pain subsided. His senses had changed, and while he could not feel his arms or legs he didn't feel like he was missing them either. Momentarily he could hear, then his eyes changed and he felt his nose vanish.

Harry flicked his tongue out and in and a wave of smells washed over him. The scent of the forest was rich, smelling of wood, wildness, and blood long spilled. A few smells; acromantula and centaur and unicorn sent the thrill of hunt racing through him, bringing out racial memories that were eons old.

Then he calmed himself with a deep breath and forced his eyes open.

And it was everything he'd thought it would be, and so, so much more. In his Basilisk form, he could feel the terrible power of the venom in his throat …feel the heat signatures of everyone in the castle all at once…

He could feel the psyche of the snake, of the _King _settle into his mind. Any doubts he'd ever had, any hesitations, he could feel them wither away and die under the venomous power of the basilisk.

It was time to hunt.

Harry crawled through the forest for what seemed like hours, going nowhere in particular; just acclimatizing to the new senses he could feel, and to the new way of thinking in his mind. The wandering wasn't due to being lost or any other problems; no, his instincts guided him, and he realized that he was spreading his scent throughout the forest, marking it as his territory.

Of course, while his wild instincts guided his motions, he was also aware of his plan, of the rather significant acquisition that he intended to make tonight. But it wasn't something to worry about, as he had everything he needed in the pockets of his human form's clothes.

Before long, he was in the same area from where he and Ron had run away two years ago. As soon as he approached, he could feel the vibrations as many-legged creatures scurried to escape, trying to run away from their certain death. With a thought, wards he'd previously placed in the area came to life, trapping all of them in the area.

Then the slaughter began.

Harry carved a bloody swathe through the acromantula. Killing them with every gaze and bite he made. His was a relentless advance; unstoppable and utterly devastating. At long last, he came to the very heart of the hive, where the biggest and oldest of the acromantula sat. Harry continued to move, circling around Aragog, killing off several of the spiders who would have protected the elder.

Then, once he was confident of himself, he turned back to human. Immediately, he was attacked by several spiders, rushing to kill or eat him, he knew not, neither cared.

With a gesture of his fingers, they died, turning to soot before a blaze of Dragon-fire that erupted from his fingertips. _Dractarye _was such a powerful Parselmagic spell, although it required that the user kill a dragon before it could be used.

That, apparently, was all it took to terrify them into submission.

Harry looked around the clearing, challenging any other critter to dare meet his eye. None did.

At length, the big ugly itself spoke. "Have you brought war upon my hive, Harry Potter?"

Well, _spoke_ wasn't quite the word. Harry had been too scared two years ago to think on this, but the spider didn't have vocal cords capable of human speech. No, it was more of a mental projection of thoughts.

"Should I not, Hive-master Aragog? Two years ago, it was your hive that tried to kill me, and you would have succeeded had it not been for luck.

"Now I have the power to avenge my humiliation, tell me, why should I not?"

"Indeed." was all the acromantula said. Harry could have smiled. It was always nice dealing with realists, who knew how things were done.

He held the Acromantula at his mercy, and that meant that his word was law.

That was all there was to it.

Because whatever the pansies and 'rights activists', and the other spineless crowd had to say, the basic fact of the world was that might did, indeed, make right.

It was that realization in his eyes that the spider called Aragog stared at Harry's feet, knowing that it was either extermination or eternal slavery for his hive now.

Of course, given that Harry had a brain, the obvious choice was the latter.

Aragog himself realized it, his eyes gaining a small glimmer of hope, when Harry said his next words.

"But don't worry. I have use for you, which means that you won't be dying just yet."

He cast a simple spell at Aragog, used in tracing genealogies. On the floor of the forest, blood started pooling around Aragog's feet from the corpses of the spiders around them. Moments afterwards, a line of blood emerged, going over till it connected the pool to an acromantula that was dying with half its side charred.

Harry snapped his fingers. A branch from the nearest tree elongated behind the creature, pulling itself back while morphing into an odd shape that resembled a cricket bat.

Its shape wasn't the only thing of it that resembled a cricket bat, as was proven when it hit the spider with enough force to demolish a small building, tossing it high in the air in exactly the right direction that would cause it to fall straight in front of Harry.

Harry cast a second spell, placing a stasis mark on the eldest child of Aragog, before he brought out a very special set of tools from his pocket. It consisted of a set of brushes, some candles, and a set of ritual knives.

With a bit of wind manipulation, he cleared the ground of any leaves or parts, while another portion of his mind created a dome of pure fire, encompassing both himself and Aragog.

He went to work immediately afterwards, hands painting out a symbol on the ground using spider blood, while the candles floated in the air, waiting to align themselves.

It took several minutes; in which Aragog made an attempt to kill him leading Harry to cut off all his legs; but soon the preparations were done.

Harry spoke the words of power, invoking his defeat of the creatures, casting the spells on their blood, and, well, doing what was needed to bind the creatures to him. It was a long process, but his patience was rewarded when he saw the sigils appear on them, confirming his mastery over all of them. He did the final component, which was to kill the eldest son of the clan being bound, using the necromantic energies thus released to forge the final link of the chain.

All done, he told them he'd see them again later, and Disapparated to the chamber.

As Harry lay on his bed, aware that sleep would soon take him, he considered what anyone would say if his actions were found out.

It was pretty certain that he would be branded a dark wizard, maybe even a dark lord.

For some reason, that made him frown. He didn't exactly realize why, but he felt an odd distaste for the idea.

Dark Lord Potter… it sounded much more suited to a group of people than him. And not just any group, but one of those particularly pathetic groups of stuck-up, narrow minded bullies who made a point out of actively opposing all innovation and originality.

Oh well. He was too tired to think about all that right then.

The next morning saw Harry working, yet again, on Luna and Neville. They had really come far, in that both of them had mastered just about everything from the first three years' syllabus of Hogwarts. Harry's efforts to teach them Occlumency had also paid huge dividends, as could be seen from the fact that both were now much calmer and more collected than they had ever been. They were comfortable in their own bodies, and around him, which was a very major thing in his eyes.

Still, there was a long way still to go.

There were some facts about the old castle, Harry pondered, which would never touch the pages of Hogwarts: A History.

One of the examples was the location he currently was in.

The sum total of people who knew this could be counted on one hand with fingers left over, but the lands where Hogwarts stood had once, back before Britain became the most valuable ground on the planet, been the home for a rather powerful Caledonian tribe. (On a different note, a few standing stones, with massive preservation spells, could still be seen in Hogsmeade)

Then, of course, Rome fell, the families came, and a major cluster of nine secondary ley lines formed bang where the home village was located.

The first family to come here was a rather minor one, and lacked the resources to do what had always been the best form of magical war; which was to swoop in suddenly with overwhelming force, kill every able-bodied person, and place everyone/everything else under binding spells.

As such, the tribe, being far better versed with the local terrain, and most importantly possessing a larger force and an excellent Chieftain, actually made a very decent attempt at resistance.

Now one thing to understand was that minor though the family was, they were still an established family, and had been doing for a long time what the tribe was just beginning to learn. So, outright battle against them was a very bad idea, as the defending tribe learned after taking heavy losses. So it had to be guerrilla warfare.

Well, they were _good_ at guerrilla warfare. Whereas most would have tried to run and hide, they chose to dig. They didn't have any technology; no massive enlargement spells to make horse-sized rodents to dig (a _very_ popular method then _and_ now for those in the know), no summoning magic for Earth spirits who could dig out the Cardigan bay in hours (That was what the Potters did to hide another major cluster), no Djinns, no Inferi that could do the digging.

What they _did _have was an ant-like capacity for hard work, inexhaustible patience, and raw cunning. They also had a budding crop of enormously talented Earth elementals, and others perfectly willing to help them. It can never be properly expressed just how deeply and how widely they dug, but over a course of years the whole ground below and around the Black Lake for miles on end became a warren of intensely magical tunnels, caverns and passageways.

The family, as things happened to be, was a rather unimaginative one, having been started barely a couple millennia ago amid the finest luxuries of Rome (_Yes. A couple millennia ago in the finest luxuries of __**Rome**_). They had come expecting a token resistance, and hardly realized that the natives were, in fact, fighting back before they were gone, extinguished by a more talented family.

Whether or not the newcomers would have fared better can never be known, as by now another family, a _Very_ major one, had mopped up the last resistance in its own chosen home grounds, and had come looking to expand. Its name, by that time, was Slytherin.

Well, the family was added to the Slytherins' ever growing list of vassals, but by the time the tribe got an idea of what was happening, snakes of all shapes and sizes had poured in, and the entire force was dead after severe pain.

The Slytherins took over the tunnels, widened, deepened them, lined them with torches, enchantments, created out galleries, dungeons, weapon warehouses, and a lot of other fun stuff.

Skip to several hundred years later, and one could have seen a Lord of the Slytherins taking one of the biggest caverns, and making it into a very specific chamber, before taking a dozen or so of the nearest tunnels and blocking of the rest with special seals that could only be opened on command.

The rest, as can be said, was history.

How this played out for Harry was evident when he looked around himself, looking at the hissing and crawling reptiles that swarmed the miles encompassing tunnels.

It was the first time he was here since the first week of summer, when he'd taken out a huge number of snakes of all varieties from both the chamber and the vaults, set them loose in the appropriately prepared sections (the preparations mainly being in regards to climate), dumped ten thousand or so corpses of humans with a similar number of rats, rabbits, and other animals (these ones being alive, of course.), assigned half a dozen elves for anything else (such as gender changing the snakes for maximum breeding when required, and a regular but very slow course of aging potions), and then put it all away to the back of his mind.

It was one of those elves that he summoned now with a snap of his fingers and a sharply spoken "Elf!"

"Franky is here, sir. What is you be needing?"

"Bring me the breeding bookfrom the study"

"Yes, master."

It Disapparated with a mild pop, appearing moments later with a thin hardback journal, bound in thick maroon binding.

"Anything else master is needing?"

"Not really. You may go."

It disappeared with another mild pop.

With a thought, Harry conjured a comfortable chair, while at the same time casting an air circulation spell (_Not _charm), along with a _Lumos Sol_.

He flipped through the book, enhanced eyes taking in every word in less time than it took an average person to read the title. (He _loved _blood magic rituals).

Hmm… this was _very _good. The aphrodisiac enchantments in the walls had paid off, it would seem. The rate of breeding had been well over twenty times normal. Nor had it had any adverse effect, thanks to the spells he'd installed so as to protect them from the downsides of their own increased, ahem, _activity_.

Where he had placed a dozen adolescent Ashwinders there were now over a hundred adults, showing a truly huge gain. Those 8 million galleon lava pits had paid off, then. _Tartarus pits_, he reminded himself. He'd bought them in Greece, acting as a friend of a friend of a friend who _might _be interested in supplying an eccentric curio collector.

It was worth it, though. Adult Ashwinders of the proper bloodlines had been known to melt through solid, magically enhanced rock, among a litany of other equally impressive uses. Of course, far more value lay in the fact that if one knew the right ritual, that particular power could be granted to any snake, not to mention, and this was the most important part, to _himself_(This was a long ways away, as committing himself that strongly to Parselmagic so soon could hamper his other abilities).

The numbers were similar for the other species, whether it was the Himalayan Ice Adder (which he had big plans for against the Siberian families in the upcoming war), to the White worm snakes.

But he had spent too much time here already. He pulled out a bag from his pocket, which contained little rings embossed with numbers, before pulling out a trunk from another.

Putting them down on a conjured table, he pulled out a piece of Parchment, filled it out with a list, and then summoned Franky again.

"Yes, Master?" the elf asked in a questioning tone.

"In the trunk, there are several cages with numbers stamped on the bars. Fill them, with adults only mind you, to the numbers on the list. Then attach the corresponding Portkey rings to the cages. Understood?"

"Yes, sir"

"Good, if you need any clarifications, use the mirror I gave you for emergencies. Rest assured that if you get it wrong I'll toss you in a pit full of them with your magic bound."

That was the note on which Harry Apparated away, mind already on the next item on his agenda, which was a meeting with some representatives of the local and provincial magical schools of Britain. (Less than twenty percent of all school age magicals attended Hogwarts, after all).

Eight hours after Harry ordered the elf to send the snakes over to the proper places, a car, a Ferrari of the latest model, as a matter of fact, could be seen going 190 km/hr. at a stretch of road located on an island that didn't show up on any maps. As the car approached top speed, the driver, a young man whom the Muggle world knew of as Samuel Phoenix reached below the steering wheel, and touched a small rune.

Its effect could be seen when the car became impossible to detect. At that time, there did not exist any Muggle means to know that the car was there. It had no heat signature, it didn't ping on radars (if any radar ever worked on ground level, that is), it was intangible, and it had no radio connection. Even the magical methods that could be relied upon were few and in far between.

The need for such measures became evident, when the wheels of the car left the ground. As the height rose steeply, the occupant could be heard to be making observations.

"Launch stabilizers are working perfectly, speed enhancement is powered and showing no hint of strain, cloaking is holding… Alright, let's see how quick this thing can really go!" He muttered, before flooring the accelerator. As the car jumped straight to 1100km/hr., a message flashed on the windscreen.

"Hmm… ok, speed-seal one encountered. Further acceleration available only on authorization, well, let's hold off on that right now." Harry said.

It was as near to perfect as things ever got, Harry thought. He had spent _weeks_ at the drawing board for this model, which he called EFA-4 (nothing fancy, just Experimental Flying Automobile, four because the first three had failed, and he wanted to remind himself of that. No ego for him, never.)

He was currently cruising at 1100 km/hr., and the fact that he wouldn't even have realized it had he not been looking out of the window was enough for him to grade that the stabilizers were working well.

Now for the other things: Over the next several minutes, Harry pulled the car into dives, corkscrews, straight near-crashes, and every single aerial manoeuvre known, and more than a few unknown to man. Here he had another thing for which he was thankful to blood magic rituals, because without them, gravity would've done a lot of funky things with his blood.

Still, the car withstood everything without even a mild strain. It helped that Harry could simply ignore the biggest worry in such things, of course. Magic and conventional energies like heat and electricity could be converted into each other without too much trouble, and such was the ratio that a crystal that could power a Patronus charm for ten minutes could also power a Muggle metropolis for half a dozen years.

So… fuel concerns? History.

And finally, there was the war potential. Even a car like this carried enough firepower to wipe out most Muggle air-forces _put together._ (It carried spells that could conjure Sidewinder missiles, along with a long, _long_ list of other things).

Still, annihilating the air forces of the world could wait for when he was _really _bored (along with plans like taking the latest weapon plans of the US army and faxing them to Pyongyang, or hanging the POTUS from the statue of liberty just to see what would happen afterwards, especially if he left a Chinese intelligence ID card lying around nearby).

Wrenching his thoughts to the present, Harry let loose with a salvo of weapons, destroying several targets he'd just conjured. One by one testing the weapons, he satisfied himself with their functionality.

"Ok, so the weapons are excellent. Now all that remains…"

Harry turned the nose of the car west, while tapping a few runes and setting a course for Las Vegas, and launched forwards, intending to cover the seven hours distance in a matter of minutes; which was a very much possible goal, given that the car jumped straight to Mach 9 on receiving his authorization.

Cruising through the air, he used another rune to bring down the roof (_of a car whose makers had never intended for it to be convertible_). As before, the spells to maintain human life inside the car no matter the circumstances held strong.

Resisting the urge to take a brief look at Mariana's trench with the roof still down (he'd done that before), he went ahead, while consolidating his plans in his mind.

It was to be a week-long trip (by real time standards, which meant that he would be spending quite a bit more time than three months. Not that all of the time would be spent in America) There were three destinations; Las Vegas, Monte Carlo and New Orleans.

By the time he was done, he would own at least a full dozen casino-attached hotels throughout America, setting up a firm overseas base for Phoenix Gambling. He could've ordered reports and made the purchases remotely, but in his mind buying something without testing and probing it properly was out of the question.

Of course, there were other things he needed to get done, too. He was carrying, in bottled form, thirty separate refineries that he had would be landing in Colombia, to produce a quality of Cocaine that would make the current levels look like baking soda. Similarly, there were Methamphetamine labs, huge quantities of cheap, raw liquor, among other things.

Of course, in addition to the fact that these 'products' were, at the minimum, about ten times as addictive and destructive as the originals, there was a very special 'magical' surprise hidden inside them.

Still, all that was for later times.

Harry allowed himself a small smile, as the Ferrari touched down on the drive-way of one of his Mansions.

Over the course of the next several days, the Casinos of Vegas, New Orleans, and Monte Carlo lost several hundred thousand dollars, before the owners lost the casinos themselves, signing them away for pittances. Harry placed Serpent-Sworn marks on the managers, and promoted the most competent among them to Director, American division of the new branch of Phoenix Inc. He also 'landed' his more illegal holdings in their appropriate places, but not before giving commands that ensured that none of the product they supplied was ever sent to Britain or the Commonwealth.

In a matter of years the Muggle future generations of every country other than his own would be left hollow, dried out husks, and he intended to take great advantage of that.

While this was happening in the States, (that is, throughout the week following the first task), war preparations were carrying on full steam in his properties in Britain and Russia, while Harry had also made more than a few public statements. A small smile grew on his face as he remembered a particular question.

"_Your Grace, What Prompted you to continue the task, even after you knew it had been tampered with?"_

"_What else would you have preferred I do? I'm British. I carry on."_

It had won him big points, and he knew it.

Speaking of the media, 'The Witches' Hammer' had come out, and its result, from Harry's calculations, was proving to be quite beyond excellent. It would provide much fuel to the anti-Muggle politicians, in addition to the small but significant subculture that was building up momentum in the Ministry and the Wizengamot thanks to the articles over the last several days.

Of course, Harry had been careful not to overdo things. The articles had caught the Liberals completely off guard, causing more than one speaker to sputter and choke, but it had to be stopped now. The crescendo was done. The iron had been duly heated and struck when it was the hottest. Now the populace had to be given time to let these thoughts fester, let them think endlessly on this, and draw their own conclusions. The effects would have to be allowed to set in, so that when the inevitable series of Pogroms against the Muggles (not the Muggle-Born. _Never __**any **_magicals) began the public would have had enough time to wonder on the concept that the massive answer would be "Why Not? They do it to themselves and us often enough!"

From tomorrow onwards, the cover page would be devoid of any such articles, filled instead with Harry's own deeds over the past several years. Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger had received significant amounts of money from an anonymous source for the memories they had 'donated' (they'd woke up missing the memories, along with keys to swollen accounts under their pillows and memories of selling the memories to unnamed individuals who never showed their faces.)

After all, while information about the events about the happenings had to reach the public so that Harry could get them to believe it on the strength of his defeat of the Dragon, he couldn't afford to be seen as tooting his own horn. This also nicely tied up several loose ends, such as them knowing the Chamber's location and about the Acromantula (which, of course, were never going to be published in any account).

Over the next several days, the average wizard would come to think of Harry as a pseudo-demigod, which was exactly was he intended, if he had to get anywhere with proving himself as Dumbledore's successor.

To be honest, it was slightly embarrassing, but he'd long since grown past his 'Just Harry' ridiculousness. After all, he _had_ done those things.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when his spells alerted him to an unfamiliar presence around him. He reached out with his senses, and soon realized who it was.

Jasper Harkins, aka Willmont Archley, aka Nightshadow, former American Auror, wanted for first degree murder in nineteen countries, for 'Unsanctioned paramilitary actions' in another twelve, for Terrorism in seven countries. Extremely talented and expensive mercenary, he was one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Harry had tracked him down several weeks ago, and gone in as an unnamed client to place a hit… on himself. (It was the most effective way to get the man)

As the man approached, Harry kept himself still, as if he wasn't aware of the man at all. He waited for Harkins to make the first move. The man was well known for his preferences for direct attack, never bothering overly with subtlety or clever plans. Such was his power that he could generally batter through anything an opponent might put up, and kill them with brute force.

Harry's senses alerted him to the man's spell, and he had to raise an eyebrow.

He knew expecting restraint from such a person was an exercise in futility, but still…

A triple-layered combination of mummifying curses, eviscerating spells and immolation magic _was_ impressive however you looked at it. Most people would be dead very, very painfully before they so much as realized what was happening.

The key being 'most'

With a lazy twitch of an eyelid, Harry overrode the mercenary's will embedded in the spell, turning it back on the man. Before the man recovered from his gasp, Harry released a _Kaze Yaiba_, a Japanese wind-spell at the man.

The assassin dodged it with a quick movement, before releasing a set of spells at Harry. Harry created a five foot wall of solid rock, taking the spells head on. It was a testament to the man's power, that deep cracks spider-webbed from the points of impact, causing the wall to crumble mere seconds later. The exchanges continued for several seconds, Harkins doing his best to murder Harry, Harry testing him, probing his strengths and weaknesses.

It wasn't long before Harry was satisfied. He was going to end it, when the man shot off another spell. It was the 'Pain of Sand' a cross Egyptian-Persian spell, that caused an automaton of sand to take shape, snapping its jaws at Harry.

Throwing an arrogant smirk at the man, Harry deconstructed the spell, before saying "That's not how you do it, dear. _Ponno Tis Ammou" _He said, a torrent of sand pouring from his wand tip, releasing a set of ten constructs at the man. Before he knew what was happening, each of Harkins' limbs was broken, while he was fixed firmly in six sets of jaws.

Harry allowed him to be like that for several minutes, aware of how terrible the pain must be, before speaking. "So…"

He had to give it to the man. There was not one expression on his face, as he said "So indeed."

"Well, what will you do with me now?"

Harry explained what he was going to do. It took a lot of haggling, and several pain spells applied repeatedly, along with some mind magic, but eventually he had it. Namely, the man's oath of vassalage, which made him bound to obey all of Harry's orders, in the spirit of them, without hesitation or demur, expectation of recompense or, indeed, any basic human rights. (It was actually a wonder how far a creature that thought nothing of slaughtering thousands would go for its own life).

Harkins was the ninth mercenary Harry had 'converted' in this way, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. It was a fairly common method to gain vassals, actually. Get someone to attack you, or attack someone, bring them to the brink of death, then offer a choice between eternal servitude and immediate, torturous death. Any person with even a single backbone (out of the 32) would choose the latter, which perfectly explained why this only ever worked on sell-wands, mercenaries, criminals and the other dregs of wizardry.

Oh, and on politicians, but that was obvious.

It was a little known fact that almost the entire early followings of all notable wizards with Imperial Ambitions; Voldemort, Grindelwald, Emeric, Rasputin, Uther, etc. had come from these personal conquests.

Harry was an Aristocrat, so he could simply use an oath. Voldemort wasn't one, hence the need to use the Dark Mark.

One way or the other, Harry dispatched the man immediately with a Portkey straight to a detention cell near one of the strongholds he'd setup in Russia. There, he would be tested to see if the oaths had taken properly. If yes, then he was to be healed, and went to the Strassinovs wearing Harry's colours.

If not …well, he would _still_ go to the Strassinovs, but much later, as an Inferius.

Of course, that brought Harry to the single most important event of the last several days.

The first batch of his vassals had come out from their training.

_It was three days after the task. Harry was waiting at Peverell Hall, where one of his largest time chambers was located._

"_So, run the latest reports by me again. In full detail."_

"_Sir. As of the last week, the agents have exited the chamber several times. Their trainers, who all have now been sworn to secrecy, and at great expense I might add, have stated that their training is the best any of them have ever seen. Since these trainers are retired soldiers, Mercenaries of the more respectable sorts, retired Law Enforcement personnel, professional Muggle spy-trainers, martial artists-"_

"_I know who all I chose as the trainers, Selene. What I want to know is if they have done what they were paid to do."_

"_You did ask for full detail, sir."_

"_Knew I should have programmed you with less sarcasm."_

"_With respect sir, that would have left me worse than-"_

"_Oh, for magic's sake, Selene, get on with it!" Harry wasn't quite exasperated, given that it was magically a near impossibility for him, but damn if this didn't come close._

"_Of course,your lordship."_

"_Twenty-five thousand people, coming from a variety of villages, cities and lands were entered into seventy time chambers a little more than a month ago. Most of them were to be trained in combat magic to form a militia, but a certain number had been set aside to work in the lands themselves, and yet more to act as spies, executives, healers, scholars, and other civilian roles."_

"_Out of these, there have been some casualties, some injuries, but the vast majority have benefited enormously. Right now, two companies of soldiers, and the entire contingent of civilians, some five thousand people, have completed all parts of their training. They have had regular excursions into the outside world, they have been taught history, the economics as it is nowadays, and all the other aspects._

"_They are, to make a long story short, ready. All that remains is for them to be handed their assignments._

"_After you met with the designated leaders among them last week, we prepared a detailed list of assignments__, which are saved in my memory, awaiting your authorization to be released."_

"_Okay, was that so difficult? Anyway, the authority's granted. Do it."_

"_Acknowledged. Printing copies now."_

The injection of hundreds of absolutely loyal, highly capable retainers in his businesses was already paying huge dividends. Overall production had risen steeply, now that capable officers could execute his orders effectively. A whole lot of ideas had been handed to them allowing for him to focus on his actual priorities. Apart from that, agents had been deployed all over the world, taking effective command of the rapid expansion of both Althric and Phoenix. Harry had announced simultaneous grand openings in France, Spain, Meluha, Swadeep, Persia, MS of A, and, well, just about everywhere really, a task that would have been near enough impossible (Nothing was _truly _impossible with magic), without the huge workforce he now controlled.

Of course, the behind-the-scenes story was a different thing. The Muggles were simple enough, but several magical countries had actually threatened to violate his patents if he didn't "get off his arse and get to it".

Not that legitimate enterprise was everything he needed them for. Even after covering every need thrice over, the sheer level of competence his vassals had meant that more often than not, each of them could get more work than twenty of the next-best-trained. So, he had devoted a significant percentage into forming a spy network throughout both the Muggle and magical worlds. In the Muggle, all it took was to give them tertiary command of the Serpent-Sworn marks.

Not only did this free him up significantly, it also meant that he could now actually _do_ something with the colossal cabal instead of just having it sitting there. He had big plans, and this would allow them to go into operation.

In the magical realms, however, things were more interesting. He diverted a small but significant portion of his gigantic illegal wealth accumulating every week in the Muggle world, and set them to meet people, take them to expensive restaurants, pay them certain amounts of money, make deals with them, give them 'gifts' and do everything else required to get their hooks into them.

In this way, he'd divided up almost the entire number, putting them in place so they could contribute to moving his plans forward. And if the vast majority of those jobs landed them with excellent lifestyles, well, he owed them that much.

Speaking of vassals…

There was someplace he had to be right now.

Harry's face morphed into that of Aries Black, robes changing into an elegantly cut suit, before he Apparated soundlessly.

He appeared in a Muggle area.

Walking briskly ahead, he spotted the house he was looking for. Within a few moments, he was ringing the doorbell.

The door opened to reveal a middle aged, balding man, with a rather oversized belly.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Mr Tonks?" Harry asked.

"That's me. What do you need? Look, if this is about those Credit Card things-"

"Oh no, Mr Tonks, this certainly isn't about any Credit Cards. Indeed, I'm here to talk about your daughter." Harry folded his hands as he said this, allowing the sleeve of his suit to ride up just the barest bit, which was all that was needed for the tip of his wand to become visible.

Tonks looked him up and down, apparently sizing him up, before his eyes eventually went to Harry's arms. Noticing the wand, he got the message.

"Well, you'd better come in. She's not here, by the way."

"Oh, that's fine. I don't suppose your wife is here?"

"Andy? Sure she is." He said, before ushering Harry in.

He led the way to a large, comfortable sitting room, before showing him to a sofa.

Harry noted the well hidden signs of Magic throughout the house with a slight interest, before settling himself on the sofa.

He almost immediately rose back up, seeing the woman he had come here looking for, the ever-so-formidable Andromeda Cassiopeia Black coming into the room.

She didn't notice him immediately, focusing on her husband.

"I heard the doorbell, Ted. Who was it?"

"Oh, Andy, this is Mr – oh goodness me, I didn't even ask his name! How rude of me."

"That's no problem, Mr Tonks." Harry said smoothly. Turning to Andromeda, he said. "My name is Aries. Aries Black."

As soon as he said the name, he could practically _feel_ her eyes focusing on his hand, looking for the ring. The moment she beheld it, her eyes changed.

And it wasn't just her eyes, either. Her whole attitude changed, shifting to wariness and distrust in an instant.

"Is it now? Well, _Mister _Black, what do you want?"

"Can we please drop this charade, Andromeda, dear? I'll excuse you not bowing and kissing the ring for this once, and that's only because I know the kind of things that were said to you."

Of course, it was probably not the right thing to say, as the couple's eyes got even colder, looking almost prepared to throw him out.

"You didn't answer the question. _What do you want?_" Andromeda's words started becoming heated. "Silence, dear. I actually was being perfectly honest. I did come to talk to you about your daughter. Just cleared the Auror Academy, hasn't she?"

Still, wary, the woman answered him. "Yes. What about her?"

"Oh, it isn't anything exactly about her _right now_, per say, but rather about what will happen in the future."

"Oh?"

"Yes…'Oh.' Because you see, Andromeda dear, I have an _interest_ in dear Nymphadora."

"You do, do you?" This was the husband, apparently in full 'angry father' mode.

"Yes, I do. And I must say, keep on using that tone, and I'll be bound to develop a rather different interest in you, too."

Maybe it was the power that lurked throughout Harry's form, or maybe it was the sheer menace that was the undercurrent of his words, but something changed in the room. Ted Tonks looked at Harry in the eye, and all of a sudden, quailed as if he'd been hit on the nose with a sledgehammer (a very effective method to make people quail, by the way).

"In any case, let me come to the point. Tell me, Andromeda, just how high in the Ministry hierarchy do you think your daughter can hope to rise, with a Muggle-born for a father and a blood-traitor for a mother?I know that you understand, don't you?"

"I have no idea what you're saying."

"Come on, Andy, this is no time to show the Black stubborn streak!"

"Do not refer to me so familiarly, sir. I know not what you mean."

"Well, let me enlighten you. The last war killed off just about any leadership talent the latest generation of the so called 'light families' had. As a direct result, fourteen years ago, Lucius Malfoy came to unofficial power in the Ministry of Magic of The Magical Realm of Great Britain. After that, he started, using his enormous wealth and power, to enact a number of changes throughout the ministry.

"Well, I could go on about the changes in detail, but the thing is, that currently the Ministry is rotten to the core. Just about the only things that matter are blood and wealth, with talent being a distant third. Now, your daughter has enormous talent (Harry had to give it to himself, saying that sort of thing, without breaking out in giggles, about an airhead who couldn't put one foot in front of the other without crashing was an achievement onto itself.) But the fact is, she isn't going to go anywhere in the Ministry, unless she has a powerful hand over her head, a patron, so as to speak."

Harry paused to look at the two of them with a smirk. "Now, I would be delighted to be that patron, but I thought of someone better."

He paused once more, for effect. "Namely, I thought of you."

"Us?" the faces were less wary now. Confusion dominated them, not distrust.

"Yes. See, I happen to have a number of Wizengamot seats under my control, and several among them come with rights and titles attached. "

"So…, I was wondering, how'd you like to be a Lady again, Andromeda?"

And there it was, the wariness, back again, full blast.

"And in return?"

"Oh, the usual, swear eternal loyalty to me as your liege, carry out the duties involves, etcetera, etcetera."

They pretended to think it over, unaware that he could see every thought that formed in their minds as clearly as if he was thinking them himself.

A few minutes later, Andromeda asked.

"May I and my husband talk on this alone, Your Lordship?"

"Oh, certainly. This _is _your own house, after all."

"He walked into the adjacent lobby, settling himself down on a chair that appeared even as he made to sit.

His ears could hear every word that was spoken, but it was hardly worth the time, given that just about every third sentence out of the woman's mouth was 'We have to ask Dumbledore!' or some variation thereof.

Eventually after what seemed like a lifetime of boredom, they came out into the lobby. Looking at their faces, Harry could confirm what he'd already heard.

"We're really sorry, Baron, but we can't accept your generous offer at this time." Andromeda said her face the very image of apologetic sincerity.

He might even have believed that she was actually sorry, had he not been able to hear the _'Chew on that, you bloody bastard.'_ in her mind.

All he said was "Oh well, never mind."

He moved as if going towards the door.

Being ahead of him, Ted moved to open the door for him.

He had just opened the latch, when Andromeda died, courtesy of the spell that decorated her walls with her brains. Before he realized what was happening, Ted Tonks was hit with an extremely weak cutting spell in the back of his throat. It was all it took to paralyze him from the neck down.

Harry twitched his wrist thrice, and within seconds Andromeda's shade was present in the lobby, standing over her corpse.

Deciding not to bother with words anymore, he pulled out a piece of parchment, and set it down on thin air, before pulling a quill out of another pocket. A murmured spell saw Ted Tonks' soul sacrificed as the price for his wife's shade to sign the document in question, with the shade disappearing as soon as the deed was done.

It took Harry fifteen minutes to erase all signs of him ever having been there, along with laying the groundwork for the story that would be known to the people. One of the Tonkses had misfired a spell, starting a fire which had grown too fast for them to manage to get out of the house.

It was a magical accident, something that was a dime a dozen in unfortunate households.

Meanwhile, Nymphadora Tonks would see herself all but destroyed without a place to go or anyone to care for her at all. The Tonkses had few friends in the magical world, and even the few that were there would back off after hearing the rumour that a rumour might be going around that the all-powerful Aries Black could possibly have some slight interest in the young trainee Auror.

Speaking of trainee Aurors, it was a rather funny thing that Harry already outranked her.

He fingered the badge in his pocket. It denoted him as a trainee Auror first class (as opposed to Tonks' third class) attached to Senior AurorAnthony Proudfoot. Scrimgeour had been most insistent, going on about how Harry had broken all records ever set, and how there had to be some tie in between him and the Auror department.

It wasn't as if Harry hadn't expected that to happen. That would actually have been a rather strange thing, given that he'd planted the idea himself. Still, the man's fervour had allowed Harry to wrangle more than a few concessions out of the man, which was always nice.

Of course, what Scrimgeour didn't know was that by then Proudfoot was more or less a rubber stamp for Harry, which allowed him unprecedented leeway. It also gave him a solid 'in' into the Ministry, to be used in the future.

Of course, Harry had made a point out of ordering that every Knut that comprised into his salary, unbelievably pitiful as it was (by any standards, not just his) to be donated immediately to St. Mungo's.

Speaking of charities, there was a meeting he had to attend.

Harry Apparated straight to Diagon alley, mere feet from Gringotts Bank.

He made his way in to Grithlauk's office without so much as glancing at the guards. Going in, he saw that Talbot was already there. After exchanging pleasantries with the man and tossing a cursory nod at the goblin, he settled into the offered chair.

"So, Lord Talbot, is it done?"

"Yes, sir, you only have to sign here. The contract contains all the details we agreed upon."

Harry looked through the thick sheaf of papers, reading through it at a twentieth of his actual speed. He completed it in three minutes, before setting it back at the table.

"Very well, gentlemen," He said, before signing the bottom page, an act that fully brought into being the Potter Foundation, the charitable trust that would now be pouring money into anything Harry wanted it poured into.

As its first act, the smaller subsidiary of it, the James Potter Quidditch Trust, would donate twenty thousand galleons to Hogwarts School, to finance all the Quidditch needs for the current year. Harry knew that it was enough to fund the sport for the next hundred years, but it suited the loose fisted, open hearted image he was fostering.

Immediately afterwards, the same Foundation donated another fifty thousand galleons, again to Hogwarts, to the Care of Magical Creaturesdepartment, for better animals and enclosures, and another thirty thousand to the Herbology department, to build new greenhouses.

The funny part came when Harry signed the orders as Lord of Hogwarts to have those very places built by Althric Inc., thereby having the money rotate back into his own hands.

But there was a difference. Now, it was lily-white.

Because harry had a very unique cash flow problem. A problem so unique, that he was probably the only person in the world to have it. Every month, over half a billion pounds poured into his accounts from those of gangs, cartels, dictators, and perfectly innocent citizens. They were split down the middle, half stowed away into Muggle accounts, half converted into galleons.

As a result, too much was flowing in, too little was going out. He had stayed ahead of the problem by opening truly ridiculous numbers of accounts, but even that was starting to be a bother. Of course, no bank official could ever tell anyone just how much he had, not with the Magicals bound in Blood oaths and the Muggles failing to grasp the very concept of betraying him, but the very fact that they noticed it was an advantage he was unwilling to concede.

Of course, now that his manpower problem was solved, the accounts would be balanced very soon, but things were delicate till then.

As his last act at the bank for the day, Harry arranged for a trust fund to be set up in the name of one Nymphadora Black (_not _Tonks), not as a part of the charity but as a part of the Black Estate. It would have a small but exceedingly comfortable apartment in the middle of the west end of London, a bank account carrying an even one hundred thousand galleons (with the capital being untouchable for the beneficiary), and all the assorted benefits therein.

He would arrange for word to reach her officially from Gringotts. All she would have to do was to renounce her Muggle name, and swear to him. If she agreed, well, her Metamorphmagus abilities and her Black blood was why he was doing all this. If she refused for any unreasonable amount of time… well, blood and DNA from a dead one would do just as well.

And the end for this chappy.

Bu-Bye.

blackshadow111


	17. Chapter 17

Welcome to the latest chapter of the Chronicles of Camelot.

Before we begin, a word:

To that spineless little motherfucker calling him/herself ddk, the one that came crying about how I'd misbehaved with that author who was fond of making stupid, empty threats:

Hey dumbass? Why don't you grow a couple centimeters of spine and log in before insulting someone? Y'know, like the people who actually have those little things called conviction and guts. What? Never heard of them? Of course, that goes without saying. Thoughtless of me.

To the King of Hearts.

I really do apologize, your majesty. It's just that I have been sorely lacking in time, hence my unforgivable behaviour to you. i shall attempt to do better.

** 11th December/1994  
Unplottable Location**

Harry had been pondering this for a long time, and he had finally reached a conclusion. The funny thing was, it was a conclusion he'd already known, which had been said again and again by just about anyone who knew the subject matter. He'd decided to think and test the matter just 'cause, but he had to agree in the end.

The laws of magic were a bloody, motherfucking bitch of truly colossal proportions.

Of course, there was the fact that their effect was muted for him. At the levels he worked at, most laws of magic were more like guidelines, while the laws of Physics were just silly suggestions. But despite all that, Newton remained supreme.

Every action did have an equal and opposite reaction, and the reaction was just as painful as the action was important and/or powerful. How this mattered to him right now was because of the ritual he was engaged in.

It was the most important ritual he had ever done till now, being the first of many that were absolutely vital in the eventual scale of things. Harry had made several very careful arrangements for this ritual, quietly gathering together the extremely rare, expensive and delicate materials required. It was a good thing that the most important components had been arranged for by his own efforts, but even then the costs, both in terms of moneyand man-hours, had been nothing short of astronomical.

And that was nothing, _nothing _compared to the real price, which was, put simply, pain.

Enormous, unrealistic pain, on the levels that made his brains want to melt out of his ears, that tore apart every sinus in his body, that, had he allowed himself the weakness of a scream, would have ripped his throat raw in a wail of agony.

But then he thought of the rewards, and it was worth it a thousand times over.

It was amusing how literal the saying 'No pain, no gain' was in terms of Blood-Magic.

A ritual that gave a person perfect balance caused a few twinges as the needed adjustments were made, while one that would allow them to survive fire unharmed would cause a terrible burning for several hours.

Harry was currently lying in the middle of a seven-pointed star that had been painted with a mixture of his blood, molten Mythril and Gold and the extracts of numerous extremely rare plants, among other things.

While he was in the polygon in the middle, four of the triangles were occupied by four of what appeared to be stakes, each of them carved directly out of the Yggdrasil, studded with several magical crystals of very specific qualities.

Apart from the crystals, the surfaces of the stakes were decorated with elaborately carved grooves, forming tiny hooks to which silvery threads were tied. These were unicorn mane hairs from seven different unicorns, all of who were eleven hundred years old, and were worth over a million times their weight in gold. There were exactly Nine hundred and ninety nine hairs, stretching taut from the wood.

Of course, the pain came from the other ends of the hairs.

The Nine Hundred and Ninety-Nine hairs had been divided three times, each set separated so as to affect a particular part of him. Their tips were embedded into tiny beads of crystallized High Elf Blood, which were scattered across his body.

Three hundred and Thirty-Three hairs were in his skin and flesh, separated along the topmost layer, barely touching him at all, to the ones buried deep into the lowest levels of the Lower Epidermis, to the ones into his muscles, going deep into his limbs' muscles, along with the flesh on his chest, on his neck, in his back, among the other regions.

The second set was to affect his organs. Every major and minor organ in his body, from his Heart, Liver, Kidneys, to his Lungs, Brain, intestines were all hooked to the shimmering threads.

And the last set was in his bones. Every bone, from the limbs, to the ribs, to his backbone, all the way to his Cranium was riddled with tiny beads. In several cases, the bones were penetrated to reach the marrow, the CSF, the brain stem, and, well, everywhere.

Each of the beads had been placed personally by Harry, in a bloody and painful process that had nevertheless betrayed traces of the world renowned master surgeons whose skills Harry had assimilated for this very purpose.

This was the sight inside the room. Had one cared to look a floor below, they would have understood more about the ritual.

What above appeared to be stakes were in fact pillars, which rested on the floor of this chamber which was of vast, cavernous dimensions. It needed to be that big, because of the things present in it.

Connected to the pillars by thick chains of pure magic, were four corpses, each of them a creature Harry had personally slain. One was the Dragon that he had killed nearly two weeks ago, connected to one of the stakes. The damage to its insides and bones had been carefully healed by Harry just days ago. Another was a thousand year old basilisk, Xerxes its name. Once it had been one of the personal familiars of Salazar Slytherin. The third was a yield of his mercenary elimination efforts, in the form of Raskul the Black-blooded, a seventy year old Werewolf that had caused no end of problems for several European regimes. He was, of course, in his transformed state. The fourth was one of the last true Krakens, which Harry had tracked all the way into its lair at the heart of the Bermuda Triangle.

Harry was currently chanting a series of spells, stabilizing critical components and smoothing out wrinkles in the technique.

Before long, he was ready, and in another few seconds, the process had started. Slowly, guided by his will and his words, magic poured out of his core, pooling into his body before being drawn by the strings. It travelled along them into the pillars, from them entering the bodies of the beasts. It suffused through them, pouring into every portion of their corpses, bringing alive ancient magic that had lain dormant since their deaths.

Of course, Harry's core, while of an extremely impressive size, was still somewhat lacking to truly charge the bodies to the needed levels. But that was no matter, as he'd known it beforehand.

Power from his connected ley line poured into him and through him into its targets, till every part of their bodies was brimful of magic, the enchantments flaring to full power.

Then, at that point, Harry spoke a word of power, shaping his will into ways beyond ordinary spells. Immediately, runes glowed to life on the beasts, shaping their magics into pre-decided patterns. It continued deep into the cadavers, the magic saturating every single cell, rendering the once mighty beasts into the conditions that the spells governing it told it to.

It continued to increase, reaching higher and higher crescendos, till each of the bodies was prepared to the levels required, all of them more magic than matter. Once the state was reached, the flow stopped, the magic settling its presence, forcing the native magics of the beasts to acclimatize to it, forming unbreakable connections between itself and both the beasts' bodies and magic.

Once that happened, the first stage of the ritual began. Magic started to flow again, but this time in the opposite direction. It flowed from the Dragon, the Snake and the Wolf and the Kraken, along the chains, along the pillars, pouring into the unicorn hair and then into Harry himself.

But it didn't flow alone.

The bodies turned first into dust, and then smoke, before they started travelling the magic's path, swirling up, up and sideways, pouring into a body that was ready for them. Along with them flowed their magics, drilling into an all-too-willing core, every aspect of the beings becoming one with the persona of Harry James Potter, mind, body and soul.

Indeed, as they came, things changed. Bones became thinner and denser, muscles increased in density from the levels of impressive to outright spectacular. Nails became claws, skin turned into scales, while traces of fur emerged from the spaces between the scales. In the mouth, canines turned into full-fledged fangs, small tentacles emerged from what was a pink tongue previously. The list of changes was endless, and by the time they were done, Harry was left looking as a strange mix of Reptile, Vulpine, and Kraken.

Of course, this was hardly acceptable, hence the part that came into effect next. Sigils burned everywhere into the room; on the floor, in the air, on Harry's skin, everywhere.

Once they were formed, they went to work. Burning black, they sent forth waves and waves of pure Chaos Magic, pouring power into him till the amounts reached saturation levels.

An extremely useful property of Chaos Magic was that it made everything extremely susceptible to change. Uncontrolled, this could cause untold devastation, but in controlled form, as this case was, all it did was to facilitate all change several times over.

Indeed, it was only with the mutability granted by chaos that the next stage could be carried out. Magic reached deep within Harry, penetrating every aspect of him pouring into his cells, all the way into every single nucleus of every single cell, so that it could affect that which was the holy grail of all Blood-magic.

His DNA was laid open before the power of chaos powered blood magic, spells already coming to life to work on it.

And work they did. Harry's genetics were cut, spread and pruned, before a whole lot was added to them. The DNA was shaped, twisted, broken, reformed, reshaped and altered to create new characteristics. The features of the Dragon, the Basilisk, the Wolf, and the Kraken were all assimilated in the truest sense of the word.

As it happened, changes appeared on the surface. The fangs, claws, scales and fur receded, withdrawn deep into his body. The magics worked properly now.

He felt as if a thousand burning pins had been driven into his body (curiously enough, that was exactly what had happened), and they were turning hotter and hotter, melting his very physiology.

This time the changes were smooth, perfect even. Bones hardened beyond diamonds, nails became sharp and _capable_ of becoming claws at a moments' notice. Teeth were just a bit more pointed, the skin was now closer to marble than any organic material. His muscles now had the density and consistency of the beasts he had taken in, in proportions so vast that he knew he could probably lift tons right now if he chose to.

The list of changes was endless. His body was shaped and reshaped as if it was clay in the hand of a god. He became faster, stronger, plain_ better _than he'd ever been before. And the fun part was that as impressive as the changes in his body were, they paled dramatically in comparison to the magic.

His magical core had grown over ten times in size. His skin now carried enchantments that had protected Dragons and Basilisks since before known history. Any wound made by his newly grown claws or fangs would never heal, unless he willed it to.

Harry's bones had been hollowed dramatically, and he felt the set of spells developing in him that would allow him perfect flight like a dragon. On the other hand, tiny slits, around a centimeter wide, formed along the sides of his neck, and he knew that he could now breathe underwater. And these were just two of a long, _long_ list of powers.

The dragons and Krakens were elemental beasts. Harry could even now feel the Dragon's magic dramatically enhancing his fire and wind affinities, while the Kraken did the same for his water and Earth affinities. It was all there, the strength of the wolf, the venom of the basilisk, everything was merged flawlessly into him, till he was left looking one hundred percent human, while feeling anything but.

The only evidence of things being otherwise was the slight shimmer that his skin now had, due to the fact that his skin was now millions of ultra-minute scales. Apart from that, his nails were just a bit pointed, while the whites of his eyes were just a bit tinged with yellow. Looking closely, one could even see where the iris had taken a slight oval, slit-like shape.

Once the last of the changes was cemented into him, their traces removed till he chose to activate them, their features and genetic markers incorporated into him (speaking of which, it had been absolute bloody hell to extract male features from the dragon), he slowly stopped the connection between the stakes and him.

Even now, he could feel them, the willful pride of the Dragon, the brutality inherent in the werewolf, along with the bloodlust and, well other forms of lust they all had in common. It surged through him, feasting on his hormones and struggling against the iron walls of his Occluded mind, before being silenced and calmed by the combination of the Basilisk's prudence and the Kraken's patience.

This _was_ a slight concern he'd taken a calculated risk on, given that the instincts of Primal powers weren't controlled nearly as easily as human emotions. Harry would have to sate them once in a while, one way or the other.

Still, he had no time to let his mind wander. The ritual wasn't complete yet.

Once the last traces of magic between him and the stakes stopped flowing, Harry's attention turned to the occupants of the other three triangles. These ones were simple, thankfully.

Three small representations of keystones sat in the triangles, looking perfectly innocent. They were the 'twins' of three other keystones which were currently set to regulate the magic in three of Harry's bigger leylines, one of them even a secondary line. Harry had chosen this day to increase the amount of magic he had on tap, and they were the preparations.

After yet another ritual involving just as much complexity as he last but thankfully much lesser pain, the last of the beads vaporized while still within Harry. They were followed by the Unicorn hairs, which were transported to an extremely safe containment vault in a pulse of magic.

Eventually, Harry stood up, feeling quite literally ready to burst.

It was all he could do to stagger to a specially prepared tank containing the magical version of what the muggles called heavy water, fall in with a small splash, and sleep. It was his due, after all. The whole ritual, from starting till the end, had been over sixty hours of back-breaking work, especially since everything, from the carving of the pillars from the logs he'd received, to the careful coating of the unicorn hair in nineteen radically different potions (prepared at the same time), to the forging of the chains of magic, to the cutting of the magical crystals had to be done in one, single stretch.

Harry woke thirty-nine hours later.

Checking his watch (the one he'd set to follow the time outside time acceleration), he realized that it had been nearly ten hours of real time from the beginning of the ritual to its end.

That was fine, but he had to get a move on. He had to master and acclimatize himself to one hell of a lot of things.

Thankfully, there was this little device he'd just reconstructed. It didn't look like much, a simple archway, with a box attached to its side, along with a tray.

It was one of the greatest masterpieces of the Sharr, a combination of time magic, abstractual magic, raw chaos, Sorcery, Alchemy and, well, other things.

It had been invented by an ancestor of his who'd found himself trapped in Nevernever after a summoning gone wrong (instead of the demon being pulled into the human plane, it'd pulled _him_ into the demonic one).

Of course, the Sharr family being the Sharr family, the man had slaughtered every demon he'd encountered, created a ritual on the spot that had turned him into a demon with all the advantages but none of the disadvantages, and declared himself King. He'd made it stick, too, establishing an actual empire strong enough that Harry still had the entire Capital City bottled up in one of the Sharr vaults (one of the ones below Castle Sharr, certainly not Gringotts).

Even now, Harry had talked extensively with the portrait, he'd assimilated the man's memories (thus being able to build the bloody thing), but he still had to admit. Krichevskoy Sharr had been one of a kind.

With an effort of will, Harry brought his mind to the present.

Rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out a set of rings that he'd forged in the last several days (well, he'd spent _weeks_, but that was the beauty of time acceleration). They were pieces of art, even if Harry said so himself. He'd spared no expense. Ancient scrolls and journals had been duly dusted off and carefully studied, from those coming all the way from Atlantis itself, written by the best enchanters among the wizards that had come to call themselves the Valar, from those that had passed through names as venerated as Rhunon the Elf Enchantress and Hattori Hanzo the weapon-master.

And that was just the knowledge. The pains he'd taken with every milligram of the metal, not to mention with the crystals in the centre would fill a small book. They were rings of power, every one of them destined to be Noble Phantasms one day.

_This _day, as a matter of fact.

Harry set the rings on the tray, before raising his hand and making a gesture. Spells activated in the room, beginning the careful work of altering the ring, finalizing the enchantments upon them, while steadily pouring more and more power.

To Harry's eyes, the activity in the room was massive. Spells were all doing different things to different rings, some were fluctuating the power between different levels, some were twisting spells, and it was enough to convert every plane of sight after the fourth to a dazzling white.

As the first ring went into the box, Glyphs glowed on the doorway. It hummed steadily, before some rather loud sounds emitted from it. Its aura grew heavier and brighter, signifying the huge, huge amount of magic unfolding within it.

Harry knew what was happening. The archway was channeling pure chaos from the deepest, darkest pits of Nevernever. It was spreading its magic through the ring, analyzing every single aspect of it, finding out its strengths and flaws, using the connection it possessed with the soul of all things to identify the very concept of every single flaw in the ring.

Harry knew that once it was done, once it knew everything there was to know about the ring, understood every aspect of every flaw, from the minute mismatch in the spell matrix to the slight faults appearing in the power flow, then its powers would reach into the endless ether of Nevernever. It would take a bit of the limitless swirl of Nevernever, and fashion out a tiny reality for itself.

In that reality, every single flaw in the item, everything that was keeping it from becoming the embodiment of perfection for the tasks it needed to perform, would be given form. Demons, spirits, shades would be summoned from every part of the Realm, the summoning indiscriminate as to region or type, caring only that the entity embodied the weakness perfectly.

In the cases where no entity could be found that suited the requirements, new ones would be created. It was child's play, what with the endless formability of the ether. This option was more likely to be exercised later, Harry knew. The device had been programmed to carry out a large number of operations later too, after all. As even the slightest complication arose, a demon would be created/summoned in real time to embody it.

It continued in that strain, till finally a swirling, shrieking vortex appeared in its middle.

Harry stepped into the item world.

He was greeted by the sight of a hellish world, fire literally raining from the skies, while behemoths walked the land. He turned his head, and he could see shimmers appear, followed by new demons. There were Dragons, Balrogs, Abominations, Biblical Hellspawn, Inferi, you name it, and it was there.

In that second, Harry dropped nearly all of his emotional barriers. He unleashed it all, letting the rage, bloodlust, hatred, and; loath as he was to admit it even to himself, fear, show on his face, he delved even deeper, bringing the most terrible and deep ranging instincts of the wolf, Dragon, Basilisk and Kraken appear in full force.

Looking back at the largest swarm of monsters, a bloodthirsty grin appeared on his face.

It was time for the slaughter to begin.

Over the course of the last several months, Harry had learned a truly vast array of magic. He had mastered spells that could both raise and freeze volcanoes, magic that could make the very Earth _bleed_. He had perfected magic that could summon the very flames of hell; fire that made Fiendfyre seem like a poorly lit matchstick. He had learned spells to bind and destroy gods and demons (albeit very, very minor ones), that could tame and enslave Archangels.

His elemental abilities had reached peaks that could raise mountains out of nothing. That could turn every gust of wind in a several mile radius into blades of deadly sharpness. He could cause metal to rain in a downpour, or the very blood in a body to boil. He could cause organs to explode and trees to become warriors. He could erase all possibilities of any event happening, or make it as certain as the sun rising.

All that and so, so much more he'd had to keep confined within himself, aware that there were people, a lot of people who could do a lot more and would not hesitate even in the slightest to destroy him.

But now…

The first 300 foot tall Hellgod fell without any effort, its heart ripped out of its chest by the arm that rose from the ground at Harry's direction. Harry didn't know it then, but at that instant, in the outside world, a significant imbalance in the combination of metals in the ring corrected itself.

Harry rose into the air at his third try, after falling in the first two. He increased his velocity to equal and beyond that of sound, ripping _through_ a dragon's fire, entering its fire gland and exiting out of the back of its throat.

Outside, a spell that had been leaking some magic stopped.

It was brutal, glorious carnage as Harry forgot all restraint, all thoughtfulness. He let all caution fly to the wind, let the rules and limitations he'd decided to define his life in wither away and die. He was a Dragon and a Wolf and a King twice over, once of the serpents and once of the sea, and _he would not be tamed._

Of course, it had its consequences. Harry took injuries, massive ones that he otherwise would have dodged effortlessly. But no injury, no magic affected him for more than a few seconds, such was the raw power of the magic now coursing through him.

Harry fought endlessly, ripping and burning, gazing and biting and casting and drowning and cutting and crushing without stop. After the first day he swore an oath to never go back till every last flaw was destroyed just for the sake of denying himself the option to quit. He ate Dragon and Demon, he sustained himself off magic alone.

He did things he'd learned long ago but never felt like applying, sleeping inside the lungs of a dead Leviathan that he'd _picked up barehanded_ from the depths of the literal sea of blood. Time ceased to have a meaning, days melded into each other as he continued dealing with the flaws and imperfections.

It was only in the nights, when he was just about to sleep, that he meditated for some time, reminding himself of who and what he was. He also took the opportunity to connect to the device and altering a few controls. When he'd entered he'd allowed himself unfettered access to the power of the ley lines. Over the course of, he steadily decreased it, bringing back more and more of his finesse in the play. Of course, at times he increased it right back up, all for the purpose of acclimatizing himself.

It was a long, long time after he'd entered, nearly seven months after, that he gazed at a perfectly calm, cleansed world. He knew that the last of the changes that had been planned in the ring were now complete, not to mention the original needs of improvement.

It had been seven minutes in the real world.

Of course, as much as he'd have liked to leave then, he couldn't. He had, by then, a rough handle on his power. By the time he left, intended to have a pinpoint and precise control over each and every aspect of it.

He started meditating again, connecting to the device, making it load the next ring into the box. The first one had been a fire elemental ring, hence the propensity for dragons and hell beasts in this realm (with the Leviathan representing flaws in the fire spells). This one, if Harry wasn't mistaken, was an Earth ring.

As the world morphed into mountain terrain, with giants, Oliphaunts and Titans, starting to take shape amid a host of other things, Harry let the grin appear right back on his face.

This was going to be _fun._

"-nd therefore the unusually risky venture of investing in powerful beasts, normally a rather problematic proposition, but in this case an idea of unmatched brilliance, was what secured the fortunes of the group calling itself the Theseus Consortium."

The lecture ended on that note with the sound of the bell. The lecturer, a hazel eyed witch in her late thirties, called out over the sound of several students packing their bags. "In my next class I shall require you to submit fifteen salient points about the marketing trends of the late fifteenth century in Europe. Thank You for your attention."

The Study of Financial history was a joint course between History of Magic and Magical Commerce, and most students only took it because an O in it provided five credits in both subjects.

The fourteen year old Count of Wicklehampton wasn't one of them. He couldn't be, as both his Grandmother and his best friend would've joined forces in skinning him alive otherwise. As he packed his bag, Neville Longbottom was feeling annoyed. He had been looking to get himself a date for the Yule Ball for several days now, but wherever he went, he found that the girls were 'already committed'. A month ago, he might even have believed that, but now he knew better. They were all, with very few exceptions, waiting for Harry to ask them, he could tell.

It was a bloody annoying thing, that's what it was.

Not that Neville would ever begrudge the boy anything. Harry Potter was as close to a supercool protective older brother as it ever got for Neville. He never made fun of him, never humiliated him, always taking care so that Neville wasn't bothered overly with any magic he tried to teach Neville and Luna. Under his tutelage Neville had learned more magic in one month than he had in three years of Hogwarts.

Speaking of learning, Neville couldn't help but agree that Hogwarts had changed in Harry's yoke. One of the clearest examples was the course Neville was just leaving. Magical Finance was a class Augusta Longbottom couldn't have dreamed of in her day, and it was still the tamest of changes.

Indeed, it was easier to catalogue what _hadn't _changed. Neville was suddenly aware of what Harry called 'Being forced to watch, fully aware, but unable to act, as the mind went off on a tangent'.

The core subjects had been totally revamped, with Astronomy dumped into third year electives. Healing magic was another topic added to the electives, with Poppy Pomfrey being made a full teacher. A full team of St. Mungo's medics had been hired to run the infirmary instead. Granted, most of them were interns, with two certified healers as the Chief medic and her Deputy. Other electives were Elementalism, Warding, Curse breaking, Magical Artistry, Political Science, along with a long list of minor subjects. The Muggle studies course had been totally gutted and renewed. Nor was it the only one. The entire Hogwarts syllabus was now wider, tougher and deeper than it had been in the last century. Students were doing Third year transfigurations in the second semester of first year, topics which had previously been allotted months had been stuffed into days.

Indeed, more encompassing than the new subjects was the new system. Instead of the do-nothing-but-sucking-up-to-teachers system, the entirety of Hogwarts had been turned into the most competitive environment imaginable on the planet. Every single thing, from the right to sit in a course, to the right of advancing early (or advancing at all), to the right to open a club, to spots at the sports teams, to Prefect-hood and Captaincy had to be earned, to be fought for.

It wasn't obvious at all. There were no rules that said 'get this by defeating your competitors for it'. But everyone with half a brain knew it was this way.

Indeed, it was difficult not to know. Almost nothing that had previously been vital mattered now. One could skip classes, pick fights, roam around free, and they would still pass, given they cleared the one and only objective of every year.

One Hundred Credits. That was all that mattered, all that was relevant to clear the year.

They had to be earned out of assignments (5-15 credits), 'Special courses' (10-25 credits), End-of-year exams (60 credits), or Individual Projects (20-45 credits), Weekly tests(20 credits) and a few other means.

And 'clear the year' did mean clear the year, only subject to a few conditions. The rules were clear. The moment one had the elusive three figures, they were in the next year, with the credit score back to zero.

Only, it wasn't _quite_ that simple. Harry had made sure of that.

First of all, it was the assignments. They were issued to all of the students, but the only submissions that counted were the ones before the number reached half of the class. That is, if the assignments was to 'Identify all the major and minor features of a Werewolf', and issued to a class of forty, then only the first twenty submissions would be accepted. That made the students rush to complete their assignments early, and, much more relevantly, delay others.

It was similar for everything. A first come, first served policy, not only accepting sabotage among the students, but tacitly encouraging it.

Of course, such a thing could divide the school badly, which was why exactly half of all Credit gaining opportunities were teamwork exercises, and no same teams were permitted twice. That would either force the students to be friendly to everyone they met, or teach them to control themselves and work together for the objective with people that had been bitter enemies just previously.

On top of that were the new standards. It was a simple three strike policy. Fail anything, a weekly test, and that was a strike. Mouth off on a teacher in a major way, and that was one. Break a major rule, and that could be another. It was a rather long list, to be honest. One way or the other, the rules were simple. One strike was a reduction of ten credits and two weeks detention. Two strikes meant a thirty credit reduction and five weeks detention. Three strikes was Expulsion. Re-admittance cost three times the fee, and a permanent black mark on the record, a record that would follow them wherever they went, whether they wanted it to or not.

It was cold, brutal and unmerciful, characteristic of the one who'd designed it. Of course, Harry had predicted that things would be extremely liable to go out of hand if he left it at that, so every single teacher and staff member had been issued strict instructions to manage the students in ways that had been elaborately described to them.

The ways worked well, and despite the inevitable hiccups now and then, the school on the whole worked with a perfect smoothness, once again characteristic of the man behind it all.

Neville still giggled like a schoolgirl at the accounts his grandmother told of the meeting of the Board of Governors, where Harry had basically told them all to go fuck themselves and he wouldn't reverse one damn change, albeit in much politer terms.

He himself had read the much touted quote in the paper. 'Unless you're the best of the best, there's no place for you at Hogwarts'

Neville forced his thoughts back to his own learning under Harry. Such was the modesty of Neville's friend that Harry always insisted it was 'just a bit of help'. But Neville had yet to find a helper who bought 10,000 galleon pensieves for their students knowing that there was no way in hell they could repay him for several years yet.

And he remembered what had happened when he'd caused the first one to be dropped out of the window of the room they'd been discussing things in. He'd been near to tears, but Harry had waved it away, saying that he refused to break friendships over a bit of pocket change.

These were the thoughts in Neville's mind, as he entered the Ravenclaw common room. He disliked what he was going to do, especially as it sometimes made him think he was taking advantage of a girl younger than him, but, well, desperate times…

As soon as he entered the place, Neville could see the students all over the room turn to look at him. Raising an eyebrow in a gesture he had by now seen a thousand times, he asked "Yes?"

Maybe it was something about how this gesture gave him a resemblance to Harry, but the voice of Roger Davies shook as he said "Sh-she's in the library."

"Is she now? Okay, see you later, then."

He heard what sounded suspiciously like "I hope not", but paid it no mind.

It took him several minutes to get to the Library, even with the secret passages.

Once there, he let his eyes roam over the place, till he found her, sitting alone, working diligently on an essay.

"Hey Luna" he said in a low voice when as he neared her table.

"Yes Neville?" she said, her wyes questioning.

"Well, I was wondering… I mean, I wanted to ask you… That is, I was thinking…"

A hint of mischief entered her eyes. "Go on, Neville. I'm listening"

Taking a deep breath, he asked. "Luna, will you go to the Yule ball with me?"

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled. "I was wondering how long it would take you to ask. It was getting tiresome putting compulsions on all those girls to refuse you."

What?

Neville tried to be angry. He really did, but the sight of her laughing that tinkling laugh of hers, all without making a bit of noise, was too much.

He smiled "And here I was blaming Harry for being too damn cool. You know I was thinking they all refused because they wanted him to ask?"

"Oh they did. But it was a slight, subconscious desire in most of them. I enhanced it into full blown decisions."

"Oh. Okay, but you still haven't answered my question properly, you know."

"Oh, silly Neville, of course I will come with you!" she said, laughing again.

Neville laughed too. It was a good day.

Albus Dumbledore was having a good day too.

For once all of the notices from the ICW-could they really be that incompetent?- were dealt with, the Wizengamot's rulings were actually being handled by the people assigned to handle them, Fudge's parliament of owls had been sent back with the advice he'd needed, and Hogwarts issues had stopped coming to his desk altogether.

It left him with some much needed time to just sit back and quietly _ponder. _And by Merlin did he have an awful lot to think on. There was something really, really rotten going on over there in the mainland, something that required a close eye of the ICW.

Large bands of Mercenaries, creatures that had in the past many times made him practically pull out his hair, had disappeared, vanishing off to nowhere. The same had happened to several very specific names too. Vampires that had been thrown out of their clans and covens, Werewolves without packs, and indeed, in some cases entire werewolf packs, washed out Aurors, crazies and criminals all seemed to have just packed up and left.

By itself it wasn't all that worrying at all, as there was only one place really that they could go. Russia was a headache he'd tried many times to tackle, but every time things had snowballed into hell and much beyond, making him consider the very thought of it as a waste of time.

But if a new party was entering the game, one with enough resources to buy the kind of firepower they'd bought… well, who knew what could happen?

At least things were much better at the commercial front. In the last month alone, no less than a dozen major enterprises had passed into hands he'd traced to be British. Oh they didn't advertise that, whoever the new holders of the new Dragon reserves, Hotel chain, Wand-tree groves, and the other things were. The official owners were invariably of the same nationality as the original owners. But he'd dug deeper. In several cases the owners didn't exist at all, having addresses located conveniently in places that had been muggle residences weeks previously. (That wasn't _quite _illegal or even attention-worthy by itself, but he'd no illusions about the amounts that must have entered the registry clerks' accounts).

In other cases, the owners were people who he knew were held by the, ahem, _nether regions_ by people, who were beholden, one way or the other, to others who certainly were as British as Yorkshire pudding.

Of course, he was simplifying things. In every case it was a long trail of aliases, proxies, dead accounts and secure banks before the real owners, more than enough to throw off just about everyone. But all modesty aside, he was Albus Dumbledore. He knew things.

But he wouldn't tell. Yaxley, Nott, Montague, Malfoy, Peverell, Sharr and the others were completely safe, now and for the foreseeable future.

And then there was Harry. Even now, when all this time had passed, Albus wasn't quite sure just what he felt about the boy. His performance at the first task had reminded Albus of himself at that age, and yet there were things that were oh so different.

Althric had grown in the last few weeks beyond anything Albus could have predicted in his wildest speculations. Offices had been inaugurated in Rome, Madrid, Paris, New Persepolis, New York, Berlin, Beijing and just about every other capital. The enchanted items branch, what was it called? Ah yes, the Althric Artificers, had showrooms in four times as many places.

In one giant leap, it had become one of the largest corporations in the world, all managed by a fourteen year old. Harry had truly outdone himself. Of course, Albus supposed the public would eat this up as a natural thing for the Boy-Who-Lived. Indeed, everyone (including himself) would have been more surprised if the meteoric growth _hadn't_ happened, although for the more knowledgeable among them, the reasons would've been a bit different.

When names like Potter, Black, Peverell, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Sharr were on a company's letterhead (let alone all at the same time), miracles like a two month old company doing this well were not just accepted. Indeed, they were somewhat _expected._

No, far more interesting was the workforce getting all this done. Some investigation had revealed a huge number of the workers as being vassals of the families in question. That was nothing new. Indeed, that was the standard way to do these things. But the tales of the workers' competence... well, it was early days still, but they were among the finest trained men and women anyone had seen in a long time.

And even all that aside, there was his attitude. Albus hadn't said anything, nor would he, given that he understood the simple fact about omelets and eggs, but Harry could be quite infuriating at times.

He still remembered the meeting in his office the day after the selection of champions.

_It was late in the afternoon. Albus had heard of the treatment of the senior year Gryffindors at Harry's hands, and was wondering just how to calm McGonagall, after she'd spent the whole breakfast badgering him._

_His attention was drawn by the slight disturbance of magic in his connection to Hogwarts. He murmured a simple command word, patching through the vision from the eyes of the Gargoyle to his own mind._

_Seeing who it was, he prepared himself._

_Moments before she knocked, he said "Come in, Professor McGonagall."_

_Normally she'd probably have made a comment about his ability to know who it was, but this time he could see that it was the farthest thing from her mind._

"_The boy really is getting outrageously difficult, Albus."_

"_You did the investigation you said, then?"_

" _Oh yes, I did. Now normally I'd be the first to admit that they were being ridiculous, but the things he imposed-"_

_She was interrupted by the sound of the sorting Hat._

"_All rise for His Royal Grace Harry the fifth, Duke of Gryphonsworth and Parsellsia, Lord Gryffindor-Slytherin, and Master of this Castle!"_

_Rising to his feet, Albus barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the woman's nose flared like she was about to spit fire. He knew very well that it was exactly for this reason; to infuriate Minerva and thus put her off-balance that Harry was putting on this charade._

_Sure enough, the crooked, infinitely amused smile on the boy's face as he strolled in was proof enough. At that moment, Albus's opinion was reconfirmed yet again. Harry Potter was a novice at manipulation like he was a toddler. The boy knew the game well. Too well, perhaps, but that was neither here nor there. Point was he, could play it like a master._

"_Someone called?" the voice, too, was just the right tone that would set the Scotswoman off._

_Perfectly polite on the surface, but thick with Arrogance and Mockery underneath._

_It worked spectacularly. The woman's face was red with rage, like a steam engine about to explode._

"_Yes! I did, Mr. Potter! I wanted to talk to you about what happened in the tower yesterday!"_

_Not even the hint of acknowledgement passed the boy's face. "Say, Albus, who's she talking to?"_

_Albus decided to choose the better part of valor, pretending not to hear._

_With tremendous effort, Minerva calmed herself._

"_I meant you." _

"_Sorry, come again?"_

"_I meant you, _your grace."

"_Oh, me? You should have said that before, no? No point in yammering about uselessly."_

_Albus worried for the health of his dearest teacher. She seemed far, far too near to exploding for her own good._

_Through clenched teeth, she kept herself from hollering._

"_Oh? Well, talk then."_

_Minerva seemed taken aback at this. It took her a moment to start. "As I was saying to Albus before you came, while the students in question were undoubtedly acting ridiculously, the offence was hardly enough to justify the punishment."_

"_Hm… and?" the question seemed genuinely curious._

"_And so it should be reduced to a slighter one, one more fitting their position and offence."_

"_Oh?"_

_Minerva seemed oddly smug now. Albus could see that she was in the flow. _

"_I'd suggest full reinstatements to their previous positions, with the detention reduced to one of a few days, and maybe a few points cut off. Their privileges should be returned too, I should say."_

"_Oh, anything else?" At this Albus got the sudden inspiration that he should maybe stop this. _

"_Well, you should apologize, to be honest. You really were too harsh on them." _

_If they hadn't already, this statement was enough to send alarm bells ringing through Albus's head. Unlike Minerva he _could,_ in fact, see the cold rage slowly gathering in the green pools that were Harry's eyes._

_He tried to interject "Oh, Minerva, I hardly think that-"_

"_Please don't interrupt, Albus." McGonagall's voice seemed positively jubilant now, as of one on the cusp of victory. _

_Albus started thinking up arguments to allow her to keep her job._

_Harry seemed evasive. "Well, okay, I'll think on this, and let you-"_

_And there it was, all the anger back in her voice. "Oh you were quick enough to decide when you destroyed my quidditch team and prefects, _my Lord._ You'll think nothing. You will restore all of them to their rightful positions, and that is final!" she was positively frothing at the mouth at the end._

_And then something happened in the room. It was almost a palpable process, as Albus _felt_ something terrible take shape then and there. Harry's form seemed to ripple and shift for a moment, before consolidating again._

_Albus flared his aura to its maximum limit, bolstering himself. He was barely in time for all that, as a noxious, crushing presence unfolded around Harry. The shadows cast by the afternoon sun writhed and squirmed around them, while hisses seemed to come from the dark corners of the room._

_At length, Harry opened his mouth to speak. For a moment Albus feared a long, drab diatribe that was more annoying than moving, as was so common by the angst and tragedy heroes which Harry had so much in common with._

_But then he regained faith. This was Harry Potter, after all._

"_Is it now?" the words came slowly, rolling luxuriously off the tongue. _

"_Really. It's final? As in F-I-N-A-L?" the mockery was back in the voice, but in a much different way. Where previously it was a boyish charm-like thing, now it was the mockery by a man who whispered sweet words to a caged bird. It was cruel and harsh, intended not to humor at all, but to thoroughly humiliate. _

"_You know, you yapped for such a long time, but never did clear up a point to me. Yes it was unfair. Yes it was harsh of me to destroy them like that. But honestly? Well… the way you said it, it was almost as if you expected me to, I dunno, _care_, or something?"_

_Albus could only watch as his deputy sank in on herself, crushed by the weight of the aura pressing down on her like a million pound rock. He would have been seriously worried by the sheer malice Harry was showing, had he not detected the very real undertone of genuine sorrow in Harry's aura._

_It was all an act. Harry had to make a place for himself at the top of Hogwarts' hierarchy, and not even Albus was naïve enough to believe that the existing 'Rulers' would give way because of how cute and polite he was._

_This was the magical world. Power was the only thing that mattered._

_Of course, Albus Dumbledore would have been worried even more, had he heard of Tristan Slytherin, the one his own descendants called the aura-crafter. The man who could not only fake his own aura to show anything he wanted, but had taught the details of the art to Harry. Or for that matter that the portrait himself had pronounced Harry to be 'the most talented student he ever taught'._

_It was after another short pause, during which the strain of the aura started to make even Albus falter, that Harry continued. "Well, none of that is going to happen, of course. But don't worry. Some things _are_ going to happen around here."_

_He gained a thoughtful look._

"_On second thought… you know what? Go ahead and worry. It's not as if the changes are going to bring anything good for you."_

"_Let's see. The Gryffindor Headship… gone, certainly. The Deputy Headmistress position… eh, what the hell, keep that._

_Apart from that, bout your pension… halved, of course. Actually, scratch that. It remains as it is. No wait, it's doubled, just 'cause. Same goes for your salary."_

"_Then…oh, I know! You're stripped of the power to issue detentions. Let's see you deal with that one!_

"_And… well, I can't think of anything else. Can you think of anything else?" he bent down to ask the near catatonic woman._

_Receiving no answer (duh), he shrugged. "Oh well, later then."_

_Even though it should have been the last thing on his mind, Albus resisted the urge to applaud, as the young man left the room, the air becoming perfectly light instantly afterwards. It was all done perfectly, down to the last seeming act of randomness._

_A calm and collected young man out to destroy her for perceived insults? Albus knew that Minerva could have handled that. A boy, barely out of his britches, trying to bully her? She'd have eaten him alive. But a careless, callous maverick who truly didn't give a damn what she thought of him? That was so far out of the left field that it was practically communist._

Albus _would have been shaken by that. And it wasn't as if he did anything he wouldn't already have done. He cared about authority, so she lost authority. He couldn't spend the interest from his earnings, so she got a bucketful of money. And it would go a long way in making her careful of what she said and did from now on, lest she loose her newly gained wealth._

_To purchase an opponent's prudence… it was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and among the most effective._

_All of this passed through his mind in less than a second. _

_Immediately afterwards, he summoned an elf, telling it to fetch Poppy._

**Several days later  
Night of the Yule Ball**

Harry was ready. It had taken him twenty three minutes and forty-nine seconds, from the first drop of water to wash his face to the last spell to keep the robes warm.

The Yule ball began in an hour's time, and there were things he had to do before then. Spells to cast, pieces of information to review, people to put in place, the list was a rather tedious one. The ball itself would be anything but, he hoped.

He intended to rather enjoy the reactions to what he'd managed.

(Author's Note: A large part of what is coming objectifies women, and all appeals to remove it will be summarily rebuffed with extremely abusive replies. If you've got a problem, skip to the next scene break.)

He still remembered asking her, no, _them _out.

_Weasley had just made a monumental fool of himself, practically drowning Delacour in drool._

_Harry turned from where he'd turned to look at him, and then said to Neville. "And that, my friend, is exactly what you don't do when asking out a girl. Now watch this._

_He rose from his seat, walking to the Ravenclaw table. As he moved, he could feel the eyes of the hall at him, including those of Delacour._

_As he neared her, the girl spoke. "What exactly do you want here, Mr. Potter?"_

_Harry made a show of being surprised. "Oh, I'm just showing a friend how to ask a beautiful girl to a dance."_

_Her face showed no expression, but Harry could practically feel her magic becoming excited, her pulse quickening in anticipation. Veela were drawn to power, and, well, he was Harry Potter._

_Too bad._

"_Oh, then how does Harry Potter ask a pretty girl to a dance then?"_

"_Instead of telling you, why don't I show you?" he said, before turning to the girl sitting four places to the right."_

_Bowing slightly to Padma, he asked "Well, Ms. Patil? Shall you do me the honor of coming to the Yule Ball with me?"_

_At that instant, he could _feel _the shock on Delacour's face, as her expression went from that of smug superiority to one of bewildered anger._

_He paid it no mind. The games he intended to play with as valuable a piece as her had only just begun. Right now the girl in front of him was almost exactly suited for his purposes._

_Speaking of which, she colored immediately, visibly flustered. _

_Seconds afterwards, she regained control, an action that significantly raised her esteem in Harry's eyes._

"_I shall have to come back to you on this, Lord Potter. There's a fact that I think you need to be made aware of."_

_He didn't bother to correct her about his title. Giving another slight bow, he said "Of course, I shall await your response with the utmost eagerness!"_

_Sauntering back to his own table, he settled down._

_Immediately, Neville started speaking in a rushed tone."What was that, Harry? I was sure you were going to ask Delacour!"_

"_That, Neville, was me putting in practice what is so quaintly referred to as '."_

_His face gained a puzzled look._

"_I don't understand."_

"_You will, later. Trust me."_

_It was several hours later that Harry found out what were the problem with Padma._

"_You know Harry, I feel odd saying this, but, well, I've always shared everything with my sister, so…"_

_Harry Potter was a cold, unfeeling monster. He was completely uncaring of the wishes and wants of anyone other than himself (Or even himself, if Salazar and Darius were to be believed). None of that made him stupid._

_It took him all of half a second to grasp her meaning. As he did, he got the sudden urge to grin from ear to ear, and give the girl a salacious wink. He knew that it was a bad idea, that the girl was nervous enough already._

_Shrugging, he did it anyway._

_Padma Patil went beet Red, before returning the wink shyly._

_At that point, Harry's head was filled with, well, things not worth mentioning on a site as draconian as this one._

_It took him several minutes to track down Parvati and ask her, but another set fierce blushes later, it was confirmed. He was taking them both to the ball._

It wasn't quite _unprecedented_, but it certainly was something, all right.

Harry went about his way, placing certain spells in certain portions of the castle, ordering certain substances mixed into the drinks and the food, along with a whole lot of other things.

It wasn't long, before he was heading down to one of the smaller classrooms placed equidistantly from both the Ravenclaw and the Gryffindor tower, where he'd arranged to meet the two girls. They would have a few minutes before the ball began, and he needed that time to talk a bit with them, find out just who would be in the first dance with him (they'd told him they'd sort it out themselves), and maybe spring a surprise or two.

Sure enough, it was a few minutes after he had conjured a recliner for himself and settled on it that he saw Parvati coming in. When he saw her, his mind evacuated itself of conscious thoughts for a few seconds.

In one word, she was _sexy._ He'd told her not to bother with gowns and whatnot if she didn't feel like it. Well, she certainly hadn't, but Harry hadn't quite known that a red _Ghagra-Choli _could be _quite_ that, well, revealing.

It was a beautiful piece, to be honest. At least three sizes too small, but then that was a large part of why it was so beautiful. He identified the workmanship as that of a few very specific villages located in the heart of the Maratha region of the Suryavanshi Empire. The Patils ruled almost all of that, if he remembered correctly.

And they certainly did well ruling it. They couldn't have just taken this on a whim from their citizens, he knew that much, given that the region was a major attraction for international clientele, and 'injustice' like that would be known throughout the world in hours.

And if they couldn't just have taken it, then it was worth remembering that where it came from, a few inches of that dress could set a man up for the rest of his life. Not to mention the jewelry. Harry calculated that she had to be carrying enough to buy half of Hogwarts on herself, in her earrings, her headpiece (_Maangtika_ if he was correct) her bracelets and her nose piece.

All that was missing was a necklace, but he knew the reason for that.

All this went through Harry's mind in a matter of nanoseconds, as he gazed upon the girl. He rose immediately, bowing slightly before brushing his lips across her knuckles.

"Well, you certainly look…" he made a big show out of being speechless, opening and closing his mouth dumbly.

It had its effect. He could feel her mood going from 'nervous and excited' to 'proud as a peacock' in the very next moment.

"Well, I-"

She was interrupted by the arrival of her sister.

The contrast couldn't have been greater.

Padma Patil was dressed in a silvery-white _Sari_, covering almost three times as much as her sister. Not that it meant that she was plain, far from it. Indeed, the _Sari _was almost _more_ sensual than her sister's dress. But it was a different kind, much more subtle.

If Parvati was a hammer of lust, then Padma was a needle, almost unnoticed in context but striking all the deeper for it. It was the same with her jewelry, too. It was a much simpler set that matched her eyes, but with the necklace missing again.

He greeted her in the same way as he had her sister.

They talked for a few minutes, before it was time.

"Before we leave, ladies, I believe I have something for you." He said.

With a casual motion, his hands were occupied by two jewelry boxes, each of them with the Potter Crest on it.

In an almost impossible motion, he opened the clasps, and presented the girls with two of the most beautiful specimen of jewelry they had ever seen.

One was a large _Jadau_ piece, designed to be placed at the juncture between her neck and shoulders. Most of it was beaten 30-carat gold, studded with a mixture of Diamonds and Rubies. Dominating the piece, however, was the centerpiece, which was a single large Ruby decorated heavily with delicate Gold work. No guesses for who that one was for.

The other, however, was far simpler. It was three strings of Pearls, all of the very finest water, ending at a centerpiece that was studded with one of the largest known Diamonds in the world.

And when he said 'Diamonds' and 'Rubies', he, of course, was referring to Diamond and Ruby natured Magical Crystals. There was a host of spells, wards, enchantment and other magic embedded in the Jewelry. Harry had replicated some of it, but the vast majority was under strong protections. Not strong enough to resist his spells, but strong enough that the pieces would be destroyed in the process.

They were all capable of a number of effects, to be released by specific command words and codes, held traditionally by the Matriarch of the Patils. But that was for later.

Even to Harry, who couldn't have cared less about jewelry and clothes if he tried, they were truly magnificent pieces. Both were of Indian make, one coming from the much-fabled _Rajputana _and other from the Royal Suryavanshi treasury itself.

There was a rather colorful history attached to them. Come into Maratha hands as parts of Dowries, they had been paid to a minor Persian soldier as part of ransom for when the _Maharaja_ of Maratha, the man who was the girls' several times great grandfather, had been captured in one of the innumerable Persian-Meluhan conflicts.

Over the course of time, they had ended up in Bashir hands as much prized treasures, and then into Harry's as the 'Seal upon their alliance'.

Well, here he was, using them now to all but rig the negotiations for yet another alliance in his favor.

He'd chosen them carefully, too. They were among the most important relics the Patil family had ever had, and this offering would go a very long way in making them affable to him.

It was evident on the girls' faces even then. Their eyes were practically glinting with joy at what they were seeing. It was several minutes before Padma spoke. "Um.. That's a really…"

Harry silenced her with a finger on her lips.

"No need to say anything. And come on, we're getting late."

He took his time putting the necklaces around their necks, though, for all that. He had to, as he was barely resisting the temptation to cop a feel here and there. (At that point it did cross his mind that slackening his occlumency _might_ just have been a bad idea, but it was too late, by then.)

The ball itself went excellently, Harry opening the dance with Parvati, with Padma joining them later. He could tell that they enjoyed the way over half the eyes in the hall were glued to them, and even more to their necks. He himself received many a salute, for the 'Supreme act of Manliness' as Bagman put it.

Not that dancing and showing off was the only thing to happen. Harry wasn't that stupid. Just about anyone who was anyone in Europe was here, and Harry made a point out of getting introduced to the ones among them he didn't already know (quite a few, unfortunately). The girls were useful here too, as simply keeping an eye on which ones couldn't keep their eyes of Parvati's cleavage gave valuable character information.

This was how the hours passed, Harry chatting around, sometimes alone with the girls, sometimes with the guests, dancing a few times with his dates and a few others, and all in all doing things that people did in balls.

Of course, for all that normality and regularity, he still was surprised rather strongly when, after sitting for a glass of wine with the girls about three-four hours after the start of the ball, Harry felt two separate legs trailing along the insides of both his thighs.

Now Harry was probably the best self-controlled lad in the world. He had undergone specific exercises that gave him near-perfect control of each of his facilities, including his lust. Even after assimilating the instincts of two of Nature's most passionate and fierce beings, the influence of the other two beings allowed his to ignore their instincts whenever he wanted.

Had he chosen not to, there was not any Veela, Succubus, Vampire or Human that could seduce him.

That all said, he had decided a long time ago that he would blow his brains out with a spell long, _long _before he allowed himself to become pathetic enough to refuse a willing, beautiful girl. (Why he _would _refuse any other being was a different matter)

Given that these were twins, well…

Harry and the girls left the hall normally enough, but half a dozen paces ahead they entered a secret passageway, and that second onwards it was a story of deep kisses and frenzied make-outs, till they ended up in the Room of Requirement.

From the entrance of the room itself it was a rather unnecessarily long trail of garments, all pulled off hurriedly but somehow not a thread out of place.

Five hours, Twenty three positions, two Pepper-Up potions, two bloodstains, eighteen sprains and one collapsed bed later, two were asleep with smiles on their faces.

Harry was thinking.

_It was the tenth month of the fourth and last year of his training. In another two months he would be going out to take his exams in the ministry._

"_And is there anything else I need to worry about?"_

_Salazar seemed oddly amused. "Well, not really, but there is one matter. Do you remember the thirteenth chapter of the Gryffindor Journal?"_

_Harry was suddenly sporting a small mischievous smile as he answered "Yes, I do."_

"_Well, I need to add something. It's that, well, and this isn't easy, but you need to remember a simple fact about sex."_

"_Yes?" Harry's tone had ever the slightest tone of mockery in it, just as it did at all the other times he encountered Salazar's hesitation to discuss what the portrait called as 'Somewhat uncomfortable' topics._

"_Remember. There is a considerable amount of power in Virginity, and yet more in the act of losing it. There are spells that can use that power to wreak a considerable amount of trouble on you, so you need to be careful. Make sure that whatever happens, the first time for you is also the first time for your partner. That way, you can use those very spells to wreak trouble on _them._"_

_All Harry did was to nod._

_Going ahead, he encountered Darius. He, as opposed to Salazar, was thankfully much more open. "So, do you have any advice for me too?" he asked._

"_Only one thing. Whatever you do, make it big." _

In any case, what was done was done. He would need to take appropriate steps in the coming days to ensure that he managed a proper alliance without giving out _too _many concessions, but that was for later.

Those were the thoughts in Harry's mind when he went to sleep.

Over the next several days, he found out that he'd been right when he'd thought of the alliance thing. He woke to an elaborately decorated owl bearing a cloth scroll; which was the traditional Indian way to send messages, he remembered, three days after the ball. It invited him to a meeting in a month.

Of course, everyone involved, from him as the receiver to the senders' lowliest servant, knew that it was a waste of cloth. It would be a cold day in hell before he allowed himself to be seen desperate enough to acknowledge the very first message, let alone one from a lesser house than his.

As the beneficiaries in the would-be alliance, the Patils would squirm for a rather long time before he 'magnanimously deigned to grant them an audience'.

And he had more important things to deal with right now anyway.

The last of his soldiers had finished training and were out of the acceleration chambers. The levies that had been provided by the vassal Lords were well on their way to attaining the required levels of proficiency, while the ones that had come from the Ouroboros Alliance members were only slightly behind, thanks mainly to the fact that they had been somewhat capable already and their training was inferior to that of his own vassals.

He had Thirty thousand soldiers to decide positioning of, and it was a task that required long and exhaustive meetings with the Alliance members, with the Strassinov tactic experts, and the vassal leaders themselves. Meanwhile the five thousand he had separated were being placed rapidly into the pre-decided zones. A large contingent formed a security force for his offices, while others had been formed into Blitzkrieg teams; to be deployed as and when deemed appropriate.

Speaking of which…

Harry apparated into one of his 'special' factories. It was located in one of the innumerable islands in the Caribbean he owned, and was devoted to a special purpose. Created using a number of transfiguration spells, and then treated to complex magic in the form of both spells and other, older things, were thousands, indeed hundreds of thousands of little animals and insects. They were truly small, mainly pigeons, flies, rodents, Hawks, and other small beasts.

Calling for the Manager of the Factory, he asked for a status report.

"Sir, by now the scrying spells have been combined completely with the beasts. We have tested them, and they work well. We can see everything they see, hear everything they hear."

"What about long distances? Say, can you see what a Desert Eagle flying over the Sahara can?"

He could see that this question had been prepared for well. "Oh yes, sir. The relay stations are working well. The signals are bounced off the towers in Turkey to the one in London, and then rerouted back to us. We receive the data streaming in real time." The man excitedly finished.

"Excellent. Now what about variety? We need to be able to insert these portable cameras in any environment, at notices as short as a few seconds."

The enthusiasm was noticeably lacking here. "Well, it's happening, sir, but there are complications. The birds and insects are being prepared, but the bonding of the recon spells shows some complications."

Harry was amused. "Really, I'd have thought that it would be one of the easier parts. Still, do the best you can. As you know, there is no limit on your funding or your resources. Inform Selene of whatever you need, and if we can get it without raising _too_ many eyebrows…"

"Speaking of which, what about the armament integration?"

"Oh, sir, didn't you get my report on that?"

"No, I must have missed it. Why, anything wrong?"

"Oh no sir, far from it! It's done, all the way through."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. All of the assigned targets have been fulfilled, sir."

"Oh, give me a copy of your report then."

"Certainly, sir." The man said, before pulling out a thin folder from his desk.

As Harry's eyes started to skim the report, a cough drew his attention.

"Yes?"

"Well, sir, there is the matter of the bonus we were promised…"

"Oh, yes. Pardon me, of course, it totally slipped my mind. How much was it?"

"Well, you said fifty thousand galleons apiece, but I'm sure I could convince the men to take as little as…"

It was at this indirect accusing of niggardliness that Harry's tone changed from jovial for the first time. "There will be no need for that. Inform them that one hundred thousand galleons will be deposited in their accounts post haste."

"Thank you, sir."

As Harry settled down to read, he mused at the easiness of it all. There was the man, contentedly thinking that he'd manipulated Harry into giving them twice the amount he'd promised the researchers and the workers.

Fact was, despite ninety-five percent of the magical world believing otherwise, there were still fools who thought that his age made him unfit to lead. Out of them, there were categories; those who would completely refuse to so much as consider him anything more than a kid, and those who would give him a chance and reserve their judgement for later.

Harry had systematically identified every single member of the first group among his vassals, and arranged careful accidents that ensured painful deaths for them. This particular Factory manager-cum- Head Researcher fell in the second category, and so he would have to be played with for a while before Harry allowed the truth to come crashing down on the man.

Perusing the report, Harry allowed a smile to come on his face. It was hard not to. Mosquitoes that could turn into pounds of Semtex-H with detonators attached, hawks that could identify and actually shoot poison dipped pins at individual skin flakes from miles high, turtles that could be transfigured at a single thought into claymore mines, all these were things he found rather interesting. And they were all completely done!

Those men and women had earned the bonus.

It was a few minutes later, when he'd read through the report, that he was reminded of a meeting by Selene.

He apparated.

The room was a cross between a war command centre and a corporate boardroom. Dominated by a large table with a set of chairs around it, it was occupied by the men who had become extremely familiar with it in the recent days.

Harry entered to find his alternate forms already present.

"Ah Harry. Nice to see you. We were wondering what kept you."

"One of the Caribbean labs, actually. But that's for later. I believe this meeting was called to check on the acquiring of Magical beasts?"

"Yes. Lucius, please begin."

Malfoy's grin seemed suited more to a shark. "Ah yes. Well, it is my honor to inform you that the Alliance of the Ouroboros is now the proud owner of fifteen major Dragon reserves."

"As was requested, I have ensured that the ownerships are untraceable to us, using a seven segment chain of proxies and alternates in every case." He finished, his tone that of one who has achieved the impossible.

Harry considered informing the idiot of the number of times he'd been forced to step in personally to clean up after the fool had closed a deal with all the subtlety of a rampaging Oliphaunt (not much, if you're wondering). He'd counted thirteen obliviations in the last two weeks alone.

But fifteen reserves were impressive regardless, so he joined the others in their praises.

A few minutes afterwards, the attention turned to Nott. "Well, Viscount, what about you?" Erebus asked.

"I too, am delighted to say that my assigned objective is almost fulfilled."

"Explain"

"As asked, I have made contact with the so-called 'infantry' species. Minotaur clans have been contacted, as have troll tribes all over Europe and Africa. With a few exceptions, they have agreed to fight in our name, provided their usual requirements are fulfilled. It should be noted that the vast majority of those species are either destroyed or already committed to the war to other factions, but I still have managed to secure a significant force."

"That is quite excellent, Lord Nottingham"

He turned to the room at large.

"Now, there is another matter to take care of. Over the last several days, we have met in the form of different groups, so as to discuss different aspects of the planning. I now yield the floor to Harry to explain the basic overview of the war plan to all our members."

The attention of the room turned to Harry. He gestured once, and a hologram appeared on the table.

"Now I won't go very deeply in details for obvious reasons, but I can give a basic idea to you.

"Our plan is in numerous phases. The first phase, of preparation, has been underway since Samhain. We have purchased war beasts, trained soldiers out of our vassals, and most of all, diverted our resources into stocking up on weapons and supplies."

There were several nods around the table at this. Harry noticed Aurelius Loring (Warlock-cum-food tycoon) looking particularly smug. He had a reason to, as after all he'd supplied practically all of the provisions for the war.

"At the same time, we have been discreetly supplying our Russian allies with weapons and money in small amounts. Nothing much, just a few millions here and there, and a thousand or so automatons (a blatant lie, the last part, but understatement was the key).

"And once we have our forces mustered to sufficient levels, that is to say in numbers heavy enough that well trained but green recruits can take on seasoned veterans, we shall initiate the next phase, which will be direct action.

"On that day, which I hope to decide in this very meeting, we shall appoint from amongst ourselves a field commander, and then place him or in charge of the whole Russian campaign."

There were a few murmurs of disquiet at this, with the Lords being rather disinclined to surrender their vassals to another's authority. Harry paid them no mind. It wasn't as if anyone involved had any choice, after all.

"The plans for the war itself shall be prepared in the coming days, based on whatever information we can get of the enemies and the terrain."

At this 'Damien' interjected.

"Speaking of which, I think it is time to fully share what information we do have."

Harry shot him a glare.

"Really, your grace? We hardly have anything complete."

"Harry, these people have millions invested in this. I think a little disclosure is due."

Sounds of "Hear, hear" went around the room for this, while several faces gained interested looks. Harry was fed each of the names by Selene, who was watching from the cameras that covered every single square millimeter of the room.

They would bear watching.

Still, as they said, 'The show must go on'

"Well, I'm not denying that, but with due respect-"

"I insist." Damien's voice carried the unmistakable hint of steel in it. The interested faces were practically salivating now, glad at this first hint of friction the hitherto impenetrable 'Founding Council'.

Of course, that was the whole point of the charade, to identify the ones whose spirits would have to be broken, or barring that, those who would have to be 'disappeared'.

Harry had no illusions that this group of self-serving, corrupt and _weak_ so-called great men would obey his every wish effortlessly. Regular measures to keep them in check, to _tame_ them, were very much a necessity, if he wanted to remain being the one doing the taming.

And to be honest, it wasn't even a purely selfish desire. Once, a short while ago, he'd been a puppet, with every single move of his life directed by an old man from his office. Now he was free. He'd shattered the glass cage, torn down every hint of his bindings.

He would not, _could _not go back to being controlled. And control him was exactly these _creatures_ would try to do. That was… undesirable.

Moreover, he was now beyond a man. He had the spirits, magic and bodies of four of Nature's mightiest animals in him. He knew that if he was shackled again…

He might just burn the whole world down.

"Well, in that case…" with tremendous reluctance in his voice, Harry summoned a thin folder out of nowhere.

"As we already know, there are nine major factions in Russia right now. For convenience's sake, I shall endeavor to categorize them by the form of government they hope to impose.

"First is the Monarchist block. This is by far in the majority, with five of the groups having this as a target.

"First of all, the Alexandrovitchs. They are a major family, with a seat in the conclave, which makes them equal to the secondary tier of clans, the so-called Ancient and Noble Houses."

Harry paused for a few seconds, watching quietly as several people nodded and murmured at this, sharing their own knowledge on the formidable clan with those unaware.

To be honest, it went against the grain, sharing detailed, painstakingly collected information casually like this. But it served several purposes.

"They have several lesser families, and two families of their own stature, sworn to them. The total land army in around two million or so infantry, which is primarily golems from what it would appear, to around half that number in heavy infantry, comprising of automaton of various types. Transfigured and enchanted Elephants, Rhinos, and Dinosaurs, the usual. Apart from that, there is a significant air force, about a quarter of a million strong, comprising of basically the same things as the heavy infantry, but with wings and flying spells attached. And of course, long range spells are also attached."

"Controlling one primary and four secondary lines, they are a strong faction, one of our major concerns."

And that was all he would share on the 'Alex's, as he called them in his mind.

He waited for someone, anyone around the table to rise up and say, "But that means that their R&D setup must suck!" (An evaluation he'd made the first time he'd confirmed the air force nature). Or for that matter for any of them to realize something out of the half-dozen hints he'd dropped.

No such luck.

Well, it had been too much to hope for anyway, particularly from cretins like this. A constant diet of wealth, privilege and non-activity had practically rotted their brains through. Now, had been a muggleborn, he'd have tossed an 'inbred' quip. But he counted eight separate muggleborns in the group, every bit as oafish as their pure blood counterparts.

He continued. "The next major faction of the Monarchists is the Cherinsky family.

"They are the mind magic specialists, preferring illusions, fear and confusion magic over direct attack. As such their physical numbers are few enough, but more detailed information is currently unavailable. We know that they have some number of Lethifolds and quite several Noble Phantasms capable of causing of vast damage, but that's just about all we know.

"At this point I should remind this meeting that if nothing else, then that fact alone makes them a class alpha threat. We quite literally cannot afford to take them lightly." He finished, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the worried looks that appeared on their faces. As if any of these men would be in so much as the same country as the danger.

Of course, there was more, a lot more that he knew about the House of Cherinsky, but that was confidential information of the slightest degree, compiled solely by using Slytherin family resources. He had no intention of sharing that, now or ever.

"After that…"

The explanation of several of their enemies, along with whatever details that could be told, continued for another hour. After that it was time for small break for some snacks and a round of drinks or two, allowing the members some time to digest the information.

Then the much more relevant part of the meeting would start, which was the detailing of their own armies and preparations.

Sure enough, an hour and a half after the start of the break, they were again united in the meeting room.

Aries rose. "And now, as the last item for this meeting, I shall be informing you in the details of the preparations by our side for this war. As there is not a lot of time, we shall be forced to gloss over some of the less important points, but I shall try to give you as thorough a picture as possible."

"As we all know, the total number of soldiers we have currently in training is Twenty-Five thousand. Now, this is the number of witches and wizards in our hands. They all have tasks to do, which I will now detail.

"For the Land army, we have Infantry, heavy artillery, light artillery, heavy assault units, siege weapons, cavalry, and a few other divisions that are currently under development. For a navy, Harry informs me that he is breeding several sea serpents, not to mention that our agents are working even now in the muggle world, quietly purchasing several fleets' worth of grain and cargo ships, which shall later, on docks controlled by us, be converted into magical warships.

He allowed them to take it in, before continuing.

"Expounding on the Land army, we have an inferius count somewhere around five to six million. Similar numbers of automatons and golems are also being prepared. Apart from all that, there is a small but significant force consisting of Basilisks, Acromantulae and a few other creatures under Harry's command."

Even if he did say so himself, the report was brilliantly done. He could have told them all of this in simpler ways, spending more time on the _actually_ relevant information. Because inferi, golems, magical constructs, they were all run of the mill as far as the Russian war was concerned. The only way they would be winning the war using items like that was if somehow the men who'd spent the last several decades dealing with worse things all spontaneously lost their memories, tied their hands behind their backs, and sealed their magical cores.

No, so far the only important things that had been revealed were the Basilisks, slipped in dexterously as yet another boring bit of information. He would be doing the same for the rest of the less important secrets. It was a rather careful thing. Bore them till their minds started to wander, then slip in a major fact that would draw the attention of some, then bore those few.

The process of elimination would ensure that no one got anything more than a hint of the real information, while he got the ability to claim under veritaserum "But I told you about that!"

Of course, he could beat Veritaserum, but that was just an analogy.

Of course, there were exceptions, such as the next topic.

"And on the matter of an air force, our forces are without any doubt the best in play. First of all, there are Inferi, of creatures like Dragons, Pterodactyls, Rocs, Gryffins, and a whole host of other beings. Indeed, almost the entire Peverell stash has been decimated (a blatant lie, as even the millions taken out had barely made a dent). Apart from that, there are a huge number of flying vehicles, from old aircrafts to tanks and even SS-20s.

This was an understatement so big that Harry had to suppress a twitch. The Ouroboros air force had hundreds, indeed thousands of old WW2 jets, each and every one of them treated with magic to make it powerful enough to take on entire cities. Then there were the necromantic beings that he'd just explained.

Long dead beings, each terrifying power, even more so after undergoing a treatment by Harry. Dragons' fire glands had been studied and cloned, placed into every single inferius they had. Pterodactyls, Rocs, Wyverns, Occamies had all been fitted with every upgrade he cared to throw at them. RPGs and Gatling guns to be released when they opened their mouths, Missile launchers fitted on their backs, Claymore mines dropping from their arses, the whole nine yards. It went without saying, of course, that every single muggle weapon had been altered so that the effects were magical. Flamethrowers released fiendfyre, claymore ball bearings were of Alchemical mythril, etcetera, etcetera.

As if that wasn't enough, (and to be honest, it wasn't. Not by far). There were the constructs. Here Harry hadn't had to observe any limitations at all, and the results, had anyone known about them, would have been enough to cause the medicinal cabinets of numerous offices in the world to be fully stocked with indigestion potions till kingdom come.

Dragon sized birds, capable of enough mischief to level entire nations existed in the hundreds, along with humanoid beings consisting solely of flames burning at supernova temperatures (Johnny who?), and a long, awfully long list of other items were waiting in reserve. Then there were what Harry called 'castles in the sir', as in fifty (so far, and counting) Boeing 747s hollowed, enchanted with, among other things, space enhancement spells. They became resupply centers, hospitals, you name it.

There was a lot, a _hell _of a lot more, but Harry wouldn't be revealing any of that to these people. Instead, he turned to a particular Scotsman, who was the sole known supplier of that particular ingredient without which no air-force was ever complete.

To say that Baldwin McFusty was a powerful man was a very, very big understatement. His wealth was almost beyond measure, certainly enough that if he closed all operations right now, his future generations would still struggle to spend the interest. He was a major, _very_ major player in almost every circle that counted.

Potions, warding, defense, munitions, the list went on. If it existed and was done in Britain, then Baldwin McFusty was in it. And he owed all of that to one thing and one thing only. The Hebredian Black Dragon.

To clan McFusty it had been a boon of truly incalculable proportions when Uther had carelessly said, "Fine, _you_ keep the Dragons!"

There were very few branches of magic which didn't make use of Dragon parts in one way or the other, and unless one wanted to pay the import duty (truly horrendous, thanks to lobbying, no guesses as to who by), the McFustys were the ones to go to.

The one thing they'd lacked was political power, and that had come when Albus Dumbledore had become Chief Warlock, in the form of permanent seats on just about every wizengamot committee remotely involved with Dragons or any other beasts.

The reason for that, of course, was Dumbledore's Order of Merlin, which he couldn't have won in a million years if not for the access they'd granted him to their reserves.

All that said, he was still a weak, spineless sort of man, fattened over a millennium of utmost privilege and wealth. Harry had decided, months ago, not to even bother with trying to deal with him as an equal. No, the House of McFusty would have to be brought to heel with brutal force, savage and unrefined. That was the only language they were capable of understanding after spending all that time with the dragons.

Funny thing was, Harry would, in a matter of years now, be a real competitor to them. His defeat of the Dragon had won him everything that was its, including the eggs. They were already in an extremely safe location.

But coming back to the point, the fact was that apart from the international reserves, which had yielded barely a dozen or so Dragons, the solution lay in their own reserves. It had taken several hours worth of negotiation, including: the torching of seven businesses they owned, the slaughter of the entire retinue of the man's bodyguards, the cutting of all prices for snake parts to two thirds of the original rates, (whose pseudo monopoly was with the Slytherin family) and the threat of a public denouncement in the Prophet by Harry (which would be more damaging to the man than everything else combined) before the old bastard had come, begging and scraping, to join the same Ouroboros Alliance whose invitation he'd tossed in Aries's face two months ago.

Of course, once he was in, he was finished. His wealth, power, all of it now existed to serve the needs of the organization. Harry would squeeze out everything of the man like pus out of a wound, but that was for later.

Harry spoke. "Well, Lord McFusty? What is the result of your assessment? How many Dragons can we expect to have battle ready in time?"

"Well, your grace, you must understand that my reserves are meant to _remove _the fighting instinct from the beasts, not increase it. I can hardly-"

"_How many, Your Lordship?"_ Harry's voice was cold now, while a hint of a flame lurked at the sides of his mouth.

The man knew enough to recognize an angered Dragon when he saw one. He paled dramatically, before saying "Th-Three dozens, your grace."

"That's it?" Harry asked, making no effort to conceal his disappointment. A strange heat grew in the room, several people starting to sweat.

"I shall tr-try to get more, your grace." The man quaked. Harry suppressed the urge to tear his head off. Once it had been said that back in the mountains the Dragons and their keepers vied for ferocity.

The name McFusty had commanded a certain respect, a form of fear. Now… a creature as spineless as _this _was the patriarch. 'The toothless dragon' indeed.

Well, nothing could be done about it. _Yet_ he added in his mind. Soon he would have a dragon animagus form, and then… they'd see.

"Thank you. It goes without saying, of course, that failure will mean the Organization taking steps to… rectify the situation."

If possible, the man blanched even worse.

"Of course, sir."

Harry nodded slowly, in an imitation of great sorrow. "It is an unfortunate thing, but sacrifices have to made."

He looked around the room. Everywhere there was a mix of surprise and that smug, slimy sort of happiness that was common between all slugs, with or without legs. They had enjoyed the humbling of one of their greatest rivals, it would seem.

Well, time to ruin that.

"Speaking of sacrifices…" Harry trailed off, letting the words hang in the air till he had the room's attention once again. It had the needed effect. Smiles disappeared, eyes grew worried.

'Sacrifice' was a _very _unpleasant word to the men in front of him, and it showed.

"We come now to the last agenda for this meeting.

"As we all know, this organization, when it was reinitiated a few months ago, had only four members." He made an expansive gesture towards himself and the three others. Soon after, more members joined, and the process continued till the last wave, which occurred just days ago."

Some people nodded, while other gave him looks to continue. He could see that their attention spans were starting to end.

He continued at the same sedate pace. "In the past, we have been few enough that regular meeting have been possible with relative ease. But last week we reached sixty-three members. As we know, it is a powerfully magical number. But the point is that the meetings are starting to take overlong amounts of time to arrange. So, the decision by the council is this:

"As of now, the sixty-three members of the Alliance of the Ouroboros are formed into a second ring, called the Core Assembly. From this day onwards, any members recruited shall be lower in the chain of hierarchy that these sixty-three, till they make a contribution of sufficient significance to the organization."

They didn't break out in cheers, but that was about the only expression of jubilation he was spared from watching. They openly smiled and laughed, clapped each other on the backs, and in some cases, hugged.

Harry couldn't help but think of just how happy small minded people tended to be when they finally had someone they could consider inferior to themselves.

"The assembly itself is now divided into circles of different degree. The innermost of inner circles is, of course, the Founders' council, and further levels shall be announced to you in the form of official communication.

"Apart from this, the Assembly shall now be divided into Sub-Committees, which shall take up the responsibilities for specific tasks, of which there shall be a truly humongous number, certainly with yields large enough to transform the financial, industrial, political and magical positions of everyone present here." Again the smiles and wistful looks. Harry was beginning to get a bit miffed now.

But here was the kicker. "But unfortunately, these things come at a price." And there it was, the phenomenon of a roomful of smiles melting faster than a snowflake in a volcano.

"Till now, we have managed our needs because the individual who control certain resources have been able to wield them personally. Due to this division of labor, this shall not be possible in the future. Therefore, what needs to be done is to create a pool of resources, from which each of the Sub-Committees will be able to draw at a moments' notice."

He watched the crowd closely to see the effect of his words. He could see suspicious looks forming, and a quick trip through their minds revealed that they were just a tad reluctant. Well, he'd have to lead by example, as usual.

"The council is aware that the controversial nature of this decision means that it has to be one which is freely accepted by the organization. Therefore, I call for a vote.

"Those in favor?". He asked, before raising his own hand.

It was at this point, that a ripple of magic passed through the room. Over the course of the last several weeks, a wealth of control-oriented magic in the form of compulsion spells, persuasion potions, etc. had been entered into the members of the organization. All of them activated now. Harry could almost see the magic going to work, whispering honeyed words into the all-too-willing ears.

It would tell them how sensible his words were, how they should agree, how they should be grateful, et al. He allowed it to continue for some time, before raising his hands in his actual form. As they saw him, the thoughts changed, reminding the wavering members of the obligation they had to the Alliance, to him, and what he may do to them if they didn't agree.

To make a long story short, the motion passed unanimously, as Harry had always known it would.

Shortly afterwards, the details came forth. The four pillars of power were explained, and contributions extracted from each of the members to give these to the Alliance.

Leading by example, Harry announced that the founding council would set up a money pool consisting of a staggering Ten Billion Galleons, to serve as the interim budget for the organization. That act alone was enough to make it a matter of pride for the Lords to contribute in the same league, just as he intended.

Money was quite literally less than nothing to him, thanks to the extremely clever things he'd done such a short while ago.

Still, the ploy worked. The contributions came trickling in, much to his amusement. Lists of contacts, of officials susceptible to bribery, of officials on whom the people present had blackmail, along with the blackmail itself, deeds of far off and well protected properties, artifacts, potion ingredient contracts, guild members' strengths and weaknesses, the services of soldiery and spies, blueprints and ward schema of important buildings with all the loopholes marked out, locations of extremely powerful magical beasts, it was a very rich harvest.

And that was just what they could give him right then. There would be more, much more. Rare books, Noble Phantasms, patents, they would all come once the Lords returned to their houses and took stock of what they could afford to give.

The meeting ended half an hour or so after the last submissions. Gradually the members returned to their homes, leaving Harry alone.

Several hours later, after he'd gone through the charade twice again, Harry read through it all, a smile growing on his face as he did so.

Things just became a whole lot easier.

And that's that. Done. Over. Chapter 17 is DONE!

As always, I welcome all suggestions, requests, grievances, and, well, everything else.

See you sometime in July,

blackshadow111


	18. Chapter 18

Hey people, here's the latest chapter! Now, as promised, this one contains a hell of a lot of magic, with demons, enchantments, swords, rings, and a lot more cool stuff.

Now, a word of advice. I have attempted to categorize and explain Summoning as best as I can, but for full comprehension, it would be best if you went and brushed up your Bartimaeus Trilogies a bit. The primary influence is from there, after all.

And one question. There is a war coming. This chapter covers about 40% of its logistical details. Do you want more, or should I just toss it into the action scenes without any warning? (heaven knows _I _hate unexplained things, but that's just me).

* * *

**19****th**** January 1995  
Goldia Alley  
Talbot, Smith and Boot office**

"And that should conclude the matter, as far as Althric Airways and Althric Guardians are concerned. We have the permits, the carpets and items have been registered, ads have been placed in every publication on the planet, along with commercials on Althric Entertainment, the pilots are fully trained and have their licenses.

"In other words, every i has been dotted, every t crossed." The voice of Ralph Talbot was jovial, and filled with no little relief, as of one who had just gotten a moment of relaxation after shouldering an unbelievable workload."

"And just how much did the whole matter, from the clerks to Fudge, cost us?" Harry asked from where he was sitting on the couch, absentmindedly crunching on a biscuit from a plate next to him.

"Somewhere around thirteen million galleons, your grace. It could have been done cheaper, but I was given to understand that there was no limit to the amount…"

"Oh that's fine. There isn't. I was just asking." Harry said reassuringly.

"Of course, sir" Talbot said, ever the smooth solicitor.

"Well, so that's it for today, unless there is something else, human?" Grithlauk asked from its position on one of the corner desks. The three of them, Harry and his solicitor and his banker, had been signing, stamping, sealing and marking papers for over six hours now, and all were understandably irritable.

"No, that'll be it, I think." Harry said, standing up. For a moment he envied the two. They would be going to their homes for a long, well deserved rest. Him? He was heading to Yugoslavia, to look over some problem that had come up with one of the builders regarding some roadway. After that it would be a trip to Switzerland to negotiate with the dwarves and the gnomes, and after that…

He shook himself out of it, reminding himself that it was very much the better way for him.

* * *

**20****th**** January, 1995  
Hogwarts**

The room was big. Indeed, not just big as in 'large', but _big _in the sense that it was vast, cavernous, the size of a planetarium. It should have been, as it was a planetarium. But it was not for the purpose of viewing stars and studying them.

To be honest, it _could_ serve that purpose, but so could a thousand other ones that were infinitely cheaper than this. It was almost completely bare, with the only adornments of any sort being the large mirrors set on the walls, meant to serve as screens. Not that they were needed, not with what was sitting in the middle of the room.

It was a simple plinth with a glass orb set on it, the only strange thing being the small glow that emanated from its surface. The glass orb was far more interesting. It was a full, extremely detailed model of the Milky Way galaxy, covering every single detail that could be considered even halfway relevant. The exact, to the last kilometer, distance of every star, planet, asteroid or satellite in the galaxy to the Earth, their sizes, the nature of their gravitational pull and its strength, the exact power and probable lifetime of every star, the projected paths, over the next One hundred Billion years, of every single body, it was all recorded and represented perfectly by the model, along with so, so much more.

Studying it, closely enough that his forehead almost touched the glass container, was the owner of it, the same man who was determined to one day be the sole master of everything it represented and so much more.

With a small snort of impatience, Harry rose from his seat, to start pacing around the room.

"This is ridiculous. I shouldn't waste so much time deliberating over _anything. _It is a sign of weakness."He muttered to himself.

From nowhere, a feminine voice responded. "Well, the decision _is _a rather momentous one, sir, perhaps-"

"No. I _will _not allow myself to be diverted. Activate the projector. Expand the image to full representation size."

His order was followed immediately. The room seemed bathed in light, as the representation of the Galaxy appeared in a greatly expanded view, its diameter in the region of a hundred meters or so. Harry focused on the things he needed.

At this point, a little explanation may be in order. What Harry was trying to decide, and what was taking him so long, was the choosing of the components of one of the greatest weapons ever created by wizardkind. Indeed, barring divine weapons and some of the extraordinarily powerful Noble Phantasms like the Sword of Rupture or the Brahmashiri, it was a serious contender to be _the _most powerful weapon ever.

Called a Shatter-Star, it came in the category of a celestial weapon, not as in one used by celestial beings, but rather in that it drew upon celestial components, hence Harry's predicament. To put it simply, a Shatter-Star was what Harry called an ISBM, standing for Inter-Stellar-Ballistic-Missile.

How it worked was better shown that told.

Getting over his indecision, Harry allowed his occlumency to fully exert itself, all the while cursing himself. It had seemed a clever decision at the time, to occasionally remove his occlumentic controls, so that he could learn to function in a situation where someone managed to disable his Occlumency. It was a clever decision even now to be honest, as to rely solely on one thing to make decision wasn't so much as creating a chink in his armor as digging out a canyon, but it sure made things unnecessarily complicated.

Finally as his mind was clear of all considerations other that cool, hard logic, the decision seemed a ridiculously easy one to make. He chose the Asteroids he needed, big enough to do the job but small enough not to overdo things, all comprised of materials found on Earth (just in case someone survived to run a chem. scan). Once the selection was completed, he moved on the execution. Immediately, signals were transmitted from the room on a frequency encrypted to a level that no computer or Magical nexus in the Universe was capable of breaking.

They were received several thousand miles away, where things started happening. Located inside a hollowed out peak in the Himalayas, the tower of Mel-Nig-Naar was one of the best hidden secret bases of the Sharr family. It was at this tower that a giant structure shaped like a wand but consisting wholly of crystal started humming. Power flowed into it from thirteen separate ley lines all located huge distances away from it, coming through Mythril wires that passed through portals. As the magic reached the needed levels, it went into operation.

It flung the magic through the vacuum of space, covering unbelievable distances in the blink of an eye, till it had a hold on the Asteroids. Then it forged the magic into an Alchemical bond, forcing the Principle of Sympathy on an item that had not felt the touch of Magic for time unknown. The representations of the Asteroids became the _Representations_ of the Asteroids, and Harry knew that every change made on the little images would be reflected, through the phenomenal might of magic, on the Bodies themselves.

After that Harry spoke several words, layering spells upon the faraway rocks. Once he was done, he allowed power to flood him from his three leylines, submerging himself in raw magic. With that done, he focused on his mind, connecting with magic himself to express what he wanted done in a way beyond speech or explanation.

He spoke the word of power clearly, his throat molding seamlessly under his metamorph powers to make the alterations that would allow it to speak the sounds that were never meant for a human voice box.

As the word of power was spoken, its result travelled the universe. The Crystal wand was filled with a maelstrom of light, while the room in which Harry was sitting seemed to twist on itself, before, with a huge pulse of Magic, a number of Rocks the size of Basketballs appeared in previously prepared tanks.

Once the runes in the tanks drained away the last trace of magic from the rocks, the tanks disappeared, leaving the stones free. Over three dozen pieces of stone transported across unimaginable distances, each a perfect representation, in miniature, of the Asteroids from which they were removed.

After that, they became the focus of his attentions. He worked patiently but rapidly, engraving upon them rune after rune, pouring potion after potion onto them, all the while chanting softly.

It was several hours before he was done.

Then he turned his mind back on the star map. He checked, and saw that the deed was done, signified by the glyphs that had appeared on the original Asteroids. So the Principles of Empathy and Contagion had both been invoked and intertwined, forging a link that was unbreakable except to someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

After that it was a matter of Power. It was much simpler, thankfully. The Asteroids were linked to nearby stars, from which they absorbed gigantic amount of Heat energy through the runes that were there for that purpose, before being channeled through the other runes, and turning into kinetic energy.

And once that was done, they were ready. Over the course of the next several hours, these Basketball sized stones would be buried below a number of Muggle and Magical cities. For the muggles his agents would simply go into the basements of the houses he had there, while in the magical ones the task would be done by the litany of blackmailed and bribed officials he controlled in their governments (there weren't many, to be honest, but there were enough).

Of course, blackmail aside, none of them would have done this had they known what the things were. But all they would be seeing were big boxes that in any case they believed were weapon supplies for his spies there.

It hardly mattered, as all of them, thankfully being minor spies, would be liquidated afterwards anyway.

And then, it would be ready. The beacons would lie waiting, undetected and undetectable, till he decided to use them. Once the crystal wand hidden in the icy mountains broadcasted the signal, the full sized asteroids would come like lost lovers, rushing to be reunited with their parts.

The result?

Boom.

With any luck, he would never have to use it, but he was thankful for the insurance policy nonetheless. It was one of the precious dozen or so apocalypses that he could unleash on the magical world as a last resort threatening option, adhering to the long held Sharr policy. 'When all seems lost, toss an apocalypse threat at them. It always works'

In the muggle world… ha.

He had so many things in place that he could probably mistakenly wipe out all muggles if he wasn't careful. Fishes in water reservoirs carrying exactly one liter of Basilisk venom each… Mandrakes hidden in Radio stations… tons of uncut RDX buried under town squares… magical crystals paced in graveyards with just enough Necromantic power to bring about a fully fledged Zombie apocalypse… he had gone a little overboard.

But all that was for later. His work here was done. He had preparations to make. In a fortnight he would be through the second task, and after that he was off, straight to Russia. He anticipated at-least five to six months of campaign there, during which he would need to return once, for the final task. All of that would require that he did all that he was needed to do here at home.

There were plans to finalize, links to test and strengthen, powerbases to consolidate, people to train, and no end of other, similar loose ends to tie up.

Speaking of which…

Harry apparated to one of his Russian estates. Over the course of the last several weeks, this particular place had been prepared with a huge array of spells, aimed to control the temperature, humidity, etc of the different parts of the 12000 acre parcel of land. In the official Ouroboros Alliance records (what few he'd allowed to be created), this place was called the 'Magical War Beings Reserve I'.

He called it, 'The First Bestiary'.

Over a long period of time, Harry had visited caves, forests, mountains, pits, and a whole lot of places, all with one purpose, which was to track down some of Nature's fiercest, most dangerous beings, and then tame them and make them obey him. This place, along with half a dozen others, was the result.

Eleven Nundus, Seventeen Nemean Lions, Five Chimerae, Twenty-Three Cerberuses, and fourteen Dire Wolves were the cream of the crop, with plenty of other beings. Each and every one of them perfectly healthy (after a course of treatment), each obedient to the instructions whispered into their minds, and most importantly, split nearly equally along gender ratios, which had already shown massive dividends, in the form of a bumper crop of offspring, already secure in safer bestiaries.

As he arrived, Harry entered his office in the building. With a snap of his fingers, he ordered the answering elf to fetch the Captain of Company 'Wild Fury'.

Seeing the man, Harry said "How are you, Captain Stormson?"

"Fine, Sir!" the man said, with a full Military salute.

Harry knew that the man would take it as a mortal insult if Harry rolled his eyes, so he stayed aloof.

"Captain, as I'm sure you know, this meeting is to decide which of your men and their partners shall be going into the mixed companies as cavalry and which ones shall remain part of Wild Fury."

"Yes sir, I do."

"Well, Captain, have you finalized the list?"

"I have, sir"

"Very well, tell me."

"Sir, as I have decided that out of the Nundus, we can afford to attach one each to the five of the companies, and two Cerberuses each. Similarly, sir, we should place a Nemean Lion with ten other companies, and place a dire wolf each with the same companies."

Harry considered the man's words. It wasn't a bad distribution at all. Two or three beasts placed with the mixed companies would be enough to ensure that when they got the advantage there would be enough of the beasts to push it, and would still not be enough that the humans couldn't bring them under control if they started causing problems.

"What about the other animals?"

"Well, sir…"

"Actually, just show me the written list." Harry had picked up most of the Thestrals to be had in Britain, near about two hundred in number from his own estates, and slightly less than that number from the Ouroboros Members, along with twenty-twenty five from Hagrid's herd at Hogwarts.

Similar numbers of Hippogriffs, War-Pegasi, and other beasts had also been picked up, to serve as the rank and file of 'Wild Fury'. After all, the Lions, Wolves and Nundus were firmly in the 'elite' categorization.

Speaking of Hagrid, Harry had picked up almost the man's entire reserve of Blast-Ended Skrewts at the same time as the Thestrals.

Of course, not wanting Dumbledore to realize what he was doing _that _clearly, he'd made the detail under a different name, which itself was the final link in a fairly long chain of false names. It wasn't his only deal, as Hagrid had a veritable phone-book worth of contacts in the Magical European Beast smuggling community. He'd been somewhat reluctant of selling the 'lil darlings', but the promise of the beasts enjoying themselves had done a lot to convince him, as had the outrageous prices.

And they would enjoy themselves, that much was certain. So far all they'd done was to eat, train and rut, but soon they would have enough killing and maiming opportunities to fulfill a lifetimes worth of desires.

There was a little thing, of course, in that all of those beasts that he had acquired paled drastically in comparison to the sheer numbers he possessed of the Acromantulae. Harry had enslaved a nest with _thousands _of spiders, and then given the spiders several other forests on his lands to breed even further. He'd had to spend a fortune in bindings, of course, but that was a given.

And he'd recouped all of that five times over anyway, what with the sheer quantity of silk that Althric Clothiers was selling _and _using, not to mention the parts of them, sold by Althric Potioneers.

Reading through the list, Harry found nothing to be worried about. He had, naturally, decided the distribution himself just in case, and this was close enough. Looking the man in the eye, Harry said. "Okay, that seems acceptable to me. A pen, if you will?"

"Certainly, sir." He said, before pulling out an ivory white fountain pen from his pocket.

Harry looked the list over for a final time, confirming that it was as the man had said, before scrawling 'approved' at the bottom, followed by his seal and signature.

Handing the list back to the man, he reclined in his seat.

As the man rose to go, he waved him back down.

"Sir?" the Captain asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"There are some additional orders, Captain."

"Yes, sir?"

"First of all, what do you think about your subordinates? Do you think that they'll bear the stress well?"

The man paused for a few seconds, probably weighing his answer, before he said with a hint of hesitation "Well, no one can just say that. They have been trained extremely well, but that sort of thing's hardly predictable."

Harry nodded thoughtfully in agreement. "Yes, it isn't, is it?"

"In any case, what you need to watch out is if any of your subordinates shown extraordinary talent."

"Sir? What exactly would classify as extraordinary, exactly?"

"You know, if it looks like they could regulate two, even three of the beasts, if they seem to be handling things easily. We have to be careful not to waste potential, don't we?"

"Of course, sir. May I speak freely?"

"Go ahead."

"What exactly will we do if there are those with extraordinary talent, sir? I mean, are there plans for expansion, if I may ask? To accommodate promotions?"

Harry's face developed the slightest hints of a smile. He remembered that the man before him didn't exactly know all that much about the breeding programs.

"Expansion, Captain? Well… of course there are!"

"May I inquire as to scale, sir?"

"Hm… scale? Let's just say, perform well enough, and you'll be able to call yourself full Colonel very soon. Maybe even General, if the numbers hold."

The news delighted the man, and Harry saw that much in his mind.

"Well, that will be all, Captain. Dismissed"

With another formal salute, the man marched away with a noticeable spring in his step. Harry caught the murmur of "General Stormson…" as he left the room.

With an amused smile, Harry considered the matter again. The man had reason to be happy, as a General in the Ouroboros Army was a position of considerable power. He laid even further back in his seat, thinking more on the organization of the military. _His _military.

The smallest uniform unit of the army was a company, like the man commanded. There were smaller units, but they were different for every company.

Five companies made up a Regiment, led by a Colonel, to whom the captains reported. Three Regiments made up a Legion, commanded by a General. So far, there were Eighteen Legions in total. A final division was between Land and Sky, with Ten Legions being Land-Legions, and Eight being Sky Legions. Both were led by Marshals, their official titles being the Land Marshal and the Sky Marshal.

Above the whole thing was the heard-loud-but-rarely-seen, almost mythical structure called CC, standing for Central Command. Heading it was the man in charge of the entire army, the CIC, which stood, obviously, for Commander-In-Chief. That just happened to be Erebus Sharr. But all day-to-day work was done by the 2IC, which was a certain young man called Harry Potter.

Of course, that was the status of the 'official' army. Not official in the usual sense, which just meant 'legal', but as in that this army was what Harry would admit to as far as anyone out of the innermost of his inner circles of confidantes was concerned. (Which, given that there wasn't any 'inner circle of confidantes' except a few paintings who couldn't do anything with the information, meant… everyone alive.)

These were the properly trained, uninjured beasts, the successfully created automatons, the properly enchanted Inferi, the correctly functioning Muggle weapons, pretty much all his other units that were working as they were supposed to work.

On the other hand were the 'Unofficial' numbers.

Harry was an extraordinarily capable wizard. Just about every piece of magic he had in play worked perfectly. But what he didn't like to admit to anyone other than himself; and himself only to keep his ego down, was that each successful result was achieved after several failed ones.

Beasts that had been badly injured in his struggle to capture them and couldn't be healed well enough (rare) or were too feral and violent (much more prevalent), Inferi where the spells had gone wrong in some way or the other, automatons that were a bit too wacky, muggle automobiles that hadn't been enchanted properly, all that formed the majority of those forces.

The other half was stuff that worked very well, but consisted of his inventions and discoveries, and in the experimental stage. That is, things and ideas that hadn't been tried and tested over generations like the magic he was mainly using had.

In other words, they were the expendable items, and therefore had to be kept out of the same zone as the Non-expendable things. Once the items he'd personally developed had been tested in live action and _then _cleared for human use, they would be integrated into the main army.

Their divisions were rather rudimentary. The mass of animals that were injured, or insane, were simply made into a group called 'The Horde'. The Inferi became 'The Scourge', the animalistic automatons were 'The Swarm', and the automatons that he'd specifically made capable of both robotic forms and vehicle forms had been named, in a fit of pique, 'The Transformers'.

Of course, there was more. He'd scoured all muggle and magical entertainment, theories, possibilities, historical accounts, mad dreams, etcetera, etcetera for inspiration no matter how silly or childish.

Harry brought himself to the present by an effort of will. There was a great deal more to do, and he couldn't afford daydreams. Pausing a few seconds to change his appearance, he apparated to Azkaban Island.

Out of the Five thousand soldiers that he'd ordered to be taught special techniques and turned into special force units, which were _**not **_deployed in Russia, nearly Three hundred or so had been dedicated to Azkaban Island. They had turned the island to a total fortress, acting under plans carefully made by him and their leaders.

A fleet of forty warships; bought as commercial vessels, grain ships mainly (tankers had too much piping for his needs) and then mounted with giant arrays of weapons, patrolled the seas around the island. Each of them carried enough firepower to wipe out any given muggle fleet in the world. They were aided by the thirty or so submarines, these ones appropriated from the long-since-mothballed units of the Soviet Navy, and once again optimized to over a million times their original capabilities by magic.

This was one part of the Azkaban Defense Web. There was a huge necromantic contingent in addition, consisting of Inferi created from everything between Sharks, Swordfish, Krakens, Leviathans, Octopi, and a whole list of other beings. Then there were the live beings, in the form of half a dozen adult Kelpies, Hundreds of non-magical marine predators, and smaller but much more dangerous numbers of magical ones.

As if that wasn't enough, Crystals were buried in the nearby seabed in a circle, carrying enough juice of the Water Elemental variety; all coming from Harry, obviously, to create a gigantic Whirlpool a mile in diameter, complete with sharpened icebergs, to be activated by codes held by Harry and him alone.

Of course, Harry being Harry, all limits of overkill had been broken. That was why a similar, if not superior level of Air defense was maintained constantly on the island. The teams of guards themselves had numerous water and Air elementals, Sorcerers that specialized in Spirits of those natures, and Marine/Avian animagi of the Predator variety.

None of this gave any reactions, other than gaining a slight boost in effectiveness, as Harry appeared in his office without any hint of a noise.

Immediately, he summoned all three of the Deputy Wardens (Land, Air and Water). To the latter two he talked for a few minutes, getting status reports on the functioning of the defenses, before dismissing them.

Then he turned to the Deputy: Land, who was the one responsible for the conventional prison administration and running.

"You received the orders that were sent a week ago?" he asked tersely.

"Yes, Sir, I did."

"And?"

"The men have been informed. They've carried out the drills too." The warden said, clearly proud of his soldiers. He had reason to be.

"Good. Then broadcast the orders under my authority. Remember, there should be no mistake in any conditions."

The man looked ever the slightest bit affronted. "There won't be, sir. We're prepared well."

"I know you have. In any case, inform your colleagues that they are to place all their units on Orange Alert immediately. Lethal force, as always, is authorised and recommended." 'Damien' said, a hard look on his face.

"At once, your grace." The man saluted before leaving, no doubt to his own office which was a few doors down the corridor.

In a few minutes, Harry heard the _Sonorous _amplified voice. "Attention all units. This is the Deputy Warden for Land. Cell block leaders are to initiate Operation Sigma-Five immediately. Evacuate all of the prisoners to the central auditorium in a calm and orderly fashion. Discipline is to be maintained under all conditions. Sedation for the highest level offenders is authorised. These orders come directly upon the authority of the Duke of Azkaban. Repeat, Initiate Sigma-Five imme…"

As he turned his attention to the numerous screens covering almost the entirety of the 25X10 meter wall, each showing the feeds from the various (four, to be exact) sources covering every single square inch of the complex, all showing the same scene; armored Golems marching into cells, dragging out the occupants and herding them towards the vast underground hall he knew covered the whole set of buildings, his mind turned to the surveillance system that had taken _three hundred million _galleons to design and put in place.

It was worth every knut, given that it covered every single square inch of the island not once but _five times over_. Once through highly enchanted cameras, once through Scrying spells, once through Scrying _Spirits,_ once through X-ray imaging from the platform hovering exactly 1200 meters above the island, and once again through a mixture of Sonar, Infra-red, magic-sensing and the other technologies that were in place. Out of them, three systems (all except the hovering platform and the last one) were connected to the island AI, which he had named, again in a fit of pique, as 'Big Brother'.

The only humans that knew that there was more than one system were the three wardens ( the dramatically different natures of the systems meant that not even the teams that had installed the systems knew). _No one _on the planet other than himself knew about the fourth and fifth systems.

And once those systems showed him that the prisoners were all assembled, he apparated to the hall, appearing in the small anteroom just off the stage.

He paused for a few seconds, preparing what he would say, before he walked into the hall.

He was welcomed almost immediately with a loud outbreak of boos and jeers, only silenced when the guards used area effect bludgeoning spells. With a slight clearing of his throat, he started to speak.

"Prisoners of Azka-" he was interrupted by one of the occupants of the front row rising up and throwing his shoe at his face. It didn't hit straight, but managed to lightly impact with his shoulder. Harry couldn't have given any less of a damn about it, but he knew that that wasn't the impression he had to give to those around him.

He picked up the shoe, and threw it back with such force as to make the standing man topple under the impact it made with his chest. That achieved immediate silence of a few seconds, before a second round of jeering started.

Not for the first time, he cursed his decision to remove the dementors. But he needed these men in some semblance of consciousness if what he had in mind was to get anywhere. This, was just a necessary evil.

It took several minutes, and more than a few of the prisoners being injured seriously, before the crowd was silent. (He considered the irony that the worst offenders present, the rapists, murderers etc were docile as rabbits, having just been awoken from their ten-minute long sedation).

He started to speak. "Prisoners of Azkaban. As you know, I am Damien Peverell, your warden. Today, you have been called here for an important matter."

At that point, some started gearing up to scream again, so he cast a spell that lifted them in the air, and banged them, hard, on the roofs and the floor an even dozen times. The sounds of breaking bones were even more effective than the screams that they released afterwards in cowing their friends.

"I really don't like to be interrupted" he said conversationally.

He continued. "All of you are here because you are too savage, too wild to be allowed to remain in society. And more importantly, you're here because you are very, very stupid, enough to get caught. He let that statement, by all accounts provocative enough to get him lynched, hang in the air. Just as he'd expected, no one opened their mouths.

In any given prison, there were two types of occupants. One was the quintessential first-time offender, who truly regretted what they were in here for, and made an effort to carry out their sentence quietly and cleanly, while being resolute to never do it again.

The other kind were the animals. They were the kind that thought nothing of raping, killing and murdering others in cold blood, and indeed, enjoyed it.

In this case, the first kind would feel a bit angry but remain quiet, knowing that the words weren't really meant for them.

As for the second…

Any person who could wantonly rape, steal from, drastically injure or kill their contemporaries in the way these things had, were, without any possible exceptions whatsoever, cowards. It wasn't a theory, but a simple fact. They would posture, make a scene, and otherwise do things to satisfy their egos, but when it came right down to it, they were spineless little worms.

He let a few seconds pass, before saying again. "Now, _because_ you are stupid criminals, you lot, all of you, are under my power. And let me tell you, it's not a very good condition to be in."

The silence continued, with the criminals starting to fidget as his aura-presence steadily grew.

"Let me make a long story short. Would any of you be interested in having a chance to get your life back?"

That got their attention. He saw them looking up with a kind of desperation in their eyes, willing him to continue.

He did.

"See, all of you have a choice. You can either stay here, rotting and dying under the attentions of the Dementors, or you can swear an oath of Fealty to me."

Shock spread through the room at his words. Heads nodded, as if realizing and saying to themselves that _this _was his game.

"I am currently going to have need of capable, ruthless people for certain purposes, and anyone helping me is in for a life full of plenty of fighting, more money that you can spend, and everything that comes along with it. Wine, women, the works"

The words hung in the air for several seconds, before one of the mid-level offenders; here for grievous assault, if Harry remembered right, spoke. "I'm not agreeing to anything, but how much money are we talking again?"

"Five thousand galleons"

"That's it?" the same man said in disbelief and a bit of anger.

"That's per month, Mr-"

"Smithkins. Joe Smithkins. How'll we be paid?"

"If you have any family surviving, then you can ask for the money to be deposited in their accounts, if not, then new accounts will be opened for your use. For the duration of your service, you won't have access to the money, but when your sentence ends… well, you get the point."

"What 'bout us lifers?" a dirty little woman asked from the back.

He was reminded of the time when the prisoners having connections to Voldemort or the death eaters had asked that question. He'd ordered the lot of them either lobotomized or kissed or, in the case of very few of them, fed the Draught of Living Death , and their bodies were still in stasis, waiting for him to use them.

But there were problems that were stopping him for doing so. They had many facets, but eventually came down to the simple fact that the magic that was involved tended to be very vulnerable to the detectors just about every government employed, and therefore had to be carried out in a sovereign country whose Dark magic sensors he controlled.

As he thought to answer the woman, a shark like grin appeared on Harry's face, causing her to gulp.

"I'm glad you asked. You see, unlike them, you don't get a choice in the matter. You're dead to the world anyway and, well…" he trailed off, discreetly signaling the guards to move in.

He was right to do it, as the woman exploded "You bastard! I'll-" was about as far as she got, before taking three bludgeoners and going down.

Harry spent another half an hour explaining the details of what he wanted and what they'd get, before he left, giving the prisoners two hours to decide.

Not that Harry would wait around for two hours. Their answer would go to the Land-Warden, who would relay it to him afterwards. As it was, Harry apparated straight to Hogwarts, intent on getting another major part of the preparations completed.

* * *

**Potter family stronghold  
3 miles below the Ural mountains**

Harry appeared in the section of the tunnel complex that he'd personally closed off just over a week ago.

Entering, he saw that the room was ready, with the golems just finishing the last of the work.

It was a relatively small room, around 15X20X10 feet. All of the walls were coated with an unbroken mirror coating that was parted only for the slight moments that the door was open. In the middle of the room, standing proud and mysterious as ever was one of the most powerful mirrors in the world, the mirror of Erised.

As the door closed, Harry went to work. With several spells, he activated the long dormant magics of the mirror, reverting it from the funny curio that it had been for the past millennium to the WMD that it had been made as.

From the walls, tendrils of pure magic emerged, connecting to the upper corners of the mirror. Slowly, Harry could feel the terrible power of the mirror rear its head, manifesting its presence on the human plane.

He was reminded of the story behind it. Even though there was considerable intermarriage between the Slytherins and the Sharrs, it was still a rare thing for a Slytherin to be a Sorcerer. Studies had revealed that the extreme change inherent in chaos had a very destructive effect on the carefully ordered mind magic of the Slytherin family. Still, exceptions were always there, and there had been a handful of Slytherin sorcerers.

Perhaps the most powerful of them was the boy born towards the declining days of the Roman Empire.

His name was Faustus Slytherin (not _the _Faust. That was the lad's grandfather on the Sharr side). He performed many great feats, but perhaps the greatest achievement he managed was the summoning and successful binding of no less than thirteen Desire demons, each of them a Marid, and several of them minor Royalty.

He bound them into a single object, after which he went to work on it. For several years he devoted himself to the task, casting spell after spell on the object, pouring potions, drawing symbols, and working layer after layer of magic.

The end result was a weapon of unfathomable power. It held the power, under a sufficiently capable user, to penetrate any mind, any thought, and extract the information about their closest, dearest desire.

That alone would have made it fearsome, had it been all. Not only could it know people's desires, it could also _act_ on them. It could create perfect illusions, in which the men and women would have everything that they had ever wanted, or indeed ever _would _want. A victim would simply sit there, absolutely _content_, dreaming the dream it lured them into.

Then it was as simple as breathing to walk in and slit their throats, or, barring that, just let them die of starvation. Even that was a lesser thing. The single greatest power the mirror had that it could be cast on any number of people at once, and without even the slightest decrease in its power.

_That_ was the true power of the Mirror of the Erised.

Once the connection between the walls and the mirror was secure, the next step began. From several feet ahead of the mirror, a plinth rose from the ground. On it was a set of fingerless gloves, with the backs of their hands being a shining, burnished steel, more than polished enough to serve as a mirror. And, under preservation spells, impossible to scratch, dirty or fade.

Soon, the steel plates were linked to the walls, before those links interconnected, directly connecting the gloves and the mirror.

Over the course of the next several minutes, Harry cast a multitude of spells, while carefully arranging and rearranging the complex mind magic that comprised the Mirror of the Erised. A link was formed. The mirror's power flowed in the gloves, again and again, till a permanent link developed, and Harry knew that it was done. He now had the power to make any number of people cease all actions, even eating and breathing, and just sit and dream, dream of having all their dreams fulfilled. He had that power quite literally in his hands.

Of course, it wasn't enough. All that was required for the mirror's powers to be anchored to another object were reflective surfaces. With a snap of his fingers, Harry replaced the plinth with a bed. Then, lying on it he repeated the procedure, embedding the power straight not in another device or piece of clothing, but in the lenses of his eyes.

It was a very, very delicate operation, as a mistake could very well blind him, or worse, leave _him_ in a dream, but it worked without a hitch.

And then he was off, this time into time acceleration, to understand the new power he'd given himself.

Over the course of the next several weeks, the world underwent changes.

Acute observers, (they'd have had to be very, _very _acute indeed), would have noticed certain signs, trends emerging in the Political-Economic scenario of the magical world. It was a very slow process, with each and every change it involved having not one, but several ordinary, reasonable explanations, but it _did _happen, and its effects _would_ reverberate for all time.

Certain businesses started to have difficulties. Several belonged to families that had a rather pro-muggle stance in the wizengamot, others belonged to individuals that had stood against certain decisions made by certain people, while others just happened to oppose advanced magical studies. And yet others belonged to people who weren't guilty of any of those things.

What went unnoticed, because it was meant to, was that of the latter group, the problems were not from external sources, but rather internal (oh, pretexts were invented, as was evidence indicating otherwise, but still). Basically, the owners were quietly and cleanly pulling back their resources from those businesses, and putting them elsewhere, allowing certain pseudo-monopolies to emerge.

They were not monopolies in the traditional sense, oh no. there were still several suppliers for every item, but they _were _in the practical, hidden sense, in that every one of them was, or to be more accurate would be, under Harry's control.

These signs could be seen the least difficultly in Britain, but they were present, for those who could find them, just about everywhere. Power was being concentrated in certain hands using an array of tactics, some legal, most illegal, and all unseen. Again, the reason this couldn't be seen was that it was very, very slow. It had only just begun, and would take, barring some exceptions, years to complete. And it was a perfectly reasonable occurrence. Businesses suffered all the time, and so did families, everyone said.

Certain officials in governments and businesses all over the world started to have things happen to them. Some were transferred from lucrative posts, others were outright fired after making a major blunder, and yet others were promoted to elevated positions.

That was fine, nothing strange about that, everyone said.

Certain things, businesses, land, farms, orchards, started to change hands, bought by families, or by corporations, or by a random individual. They were of many types, focusing on just about any field imaginable, but what the buyers oh so diligently diverted attention from was that while in most cases only a small but significant stake was acquired, in others, specifically the ones of a certain, ahem, _strategic _nature, the stakes were far, far bigger, resulting more often than not in total monopolies.

Again, it wasn't anything to be worried about, everyone said.

It was far from being a matter of weeks. Analysis later would reveal that what happened then was but the beginning. The changes would continue for years, well over a decade.

But the end result would be…

Well, that would ruin the story.

Another thing of note was what happened in Russia. Certain parties of strange men and women, foreigners, each highly trained and dangerous, started to make semi-regular appearances with the Strassinov camp. They were vicious in battle, and each of them was unusually clear-headed and powerful, possessed of considerable leadership talent.

Not that an observer would have known it, but they were the entire Officer corps of the Ouroboros Army, here to gain live experience so they could be worth a damn when leading their fellow vassals in said army. It was a vital thing to do, that much was certain. Till he had the supplies and the training at a high enough level, he couldn't enter in full force, but till then, he could at least provide invaluable battle experience to his vassals' leaders.

They participated in several skirmishes, some major, most minor, just enough for all of them to get their first kills. Harry kept the pace rising slowly, and for all that, he was just able to rate them adequate when February dawned.

Meanwhile, several other plans continued to move ahead.

Not everyone was happy with that fact.

His name was Julius Morrigan. He was one of the most powerful men in Britain, the Head of the Ancient and Noble house of Morrigan, senior member of the judicial committee of the wizengamot, and the Chairman of Morrigan Enchanters Inc., one of the most powerful companies in the world. His company did everything that involved enchantment work, from specialized orders to mass produced trinkets.

And he was currently in a mix of anger and confusion. Because Julius Morrigan did not like what was happening these days, and what he liked even less was that there wasn't anything he or anyone else could do about it. There was simply no proof at all of any wrongdoing, or even of anything out of the ordinary.

But he, the Marquis of Shrewsbury, was far too canny to not recognize the signs. First there was the humiliation he'd faced in the wizengamot at the hand of Damien Peverell, then there was _them_, the thrice damned Alliance of the Ouroboros.

'_It is an obscene thing'_ he thought, considering what he knew about the Alliance. He had been approached by Lysander Yaxley several months ago, with news of the families of Potter, Black, and four eldritch families putting together a group that would then, supposedly, use the enormous powers of its members to peacefully fulfill its objectives, namely the ensuring of total separation from any and all muggle contact, which would be followed by a resurgence of old magical traditions and lifestyles.

Morrigan could imagine what they meant by that. It would be a throwback to the Ancient days, the days in which Magic had unquestionably reigned supreme throughout the planet, and muggles hadn't even been considered animals, being categorized solely as ritual ingredients, slaves, and decorative items.

They had been dark days, far, far too dark, at least in Julius's imagination. The days of Middle Earth, of Sauron and Morgoth, of the land of Algaesia where the house of Malfoy had become royalty for the first time under Mad Galbatorix, and the days of Westeros, when the Potters had ruled, only named as Baratheon.

The house of Morrigan, along with a few other like-minded families and individuals, had spent considerable time and effort in erasing every hint of those days from public memory. There reasons for that were many, from Altruistic, as for Dumbledore, or pure business, as for the families like the Morrigans themselves, the Ollivanders, the Dagworth-Grangers, et al.

None of them wanted to return to the times when the ordinary wizard had done everything, from enchanting their objects to making their wands to brewing their potions, on their own, after all.

Still, the reasons were irrelevant, the point was that it had been happening. The beginnings of it had been lain back in the 1700s, with a few innocuous laws that, ahem, _discouraged _certain magic. it had progressed with rites and rituals like the cleansing of Mabon, the lighting of the Imbolc flames, among others, being categorized as 'dark' and later 'evil'.

It had gotten easier later, with classes in the schools being first cut and later abolished. The process had gotten a very substantial boost in the 20th century, when Albus Dumbledore had become Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. As the institution that set the bar for every educational institution in Britain and thence Europe, it had allowed severe curtailing of Ancient knowledge being passed to the younger generations.

It had all been going so well, till a few months ago, when the unthinkable had happened. Hogwarts had passed from Dumbledore's control, and into Harry Potter's hands, who had, in a matter of days, sent centuries worth of plans careening into the dust.

The situation was rapidly becoming untenable now, as more and more books spread throughout the Hogwarts student populace, spreading the history of the Magical world, with all its darkness and blood and power, out in the open.

No one could do a thing about it, as the laws in the matter were a matter of basic trickery. It was a simple thing, actually. In Britain, it was fundamentally illegal to actually _ban_ a piece of magic. it was a Royal Decree, bearing Uther's own seal on it, which made it unalterable by any and all means whatsoever, except for…

Well, that avenue wasn't even worth considering. Point was, all the restrictions that had been imposed on magic were inherently dependant on the tacit approval of the schools. After all, schools had the right to choose their own curriculums. And if they chose to discontinue their courses, well, that was their business, wasn't it?

Except that it was now all falling apart. Students were learning magic, all sorts of magic, and moreover, were raving about it in their letters home. That caused people to buy books to see what their children were talking about, and to read, and be fascinated.

That caused indignation when it was realized that they should have learned all of this by themselves, and that, it turn, was causing a slow but steady build up of pressure, to restore the knowledge that was their birthright and punish the ones that had taken it from them. For a long time, Morrigan had considered what to do, but no answer seemed to be forthcoming.

* * *

**27****th**** January 1995  
Hogwarts Castle**

It was a fairly unique gathering, to be honest. They all had only one thing in common, and that was that each of them was a top scorer in their years. There were Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, muggleborns and purebloods, scholarship students as well as heirs, all invited with the sole criteria being talent and an ability to work hard.

Well, to be honest, there _were _a few others, who had been invited for somewhat different reasons. That was the reason why the gathering included more than a few heirs and heiresses of old, highly respected families, or individuals for that matter, sons and daughters of Millionaires, Scholars, Ambassadors, Highly placed policy-makers, and the like.

Naturally, there weren't many of them, the total numbering somewhere between twenty-five and forty. They all were, right now, busy looking around the room they were in, which looked as if it could admit quite a few more of them.

It was a lavishly appointed room, as well. Comfortable couches lined the walls, letting their occupants sink deep into the cushions. The curtains and draperies were velvet, while gem-dotted chandeliers decorated the roofs. The walls were covered with elaborate tapestries, displaying important scenes from magical history. An array of snacks and soft drinks were floating around by themselves on silver trays, which seemed unable to be emptied. Here and there were games, a small setup for Magic: The Gathering with the things and creatures actually appearing in miniature, gobstones, Exploding Card games (really, it was ridiculous, assuming that only one game could be played with the decks just because the owner of the company happened to like Snap), Monopoly, Magical Chess, Magical Checkers, Dungeons and Dragons, etcetera, etcetera.

The few walls without tapestries had a line of video games and computers, featuring everything from Dungeon Keeper to Nurmengard-3D (Each and every one of them bearing the logo of Althric Entertainment in unobtrusive but still visible places, of course). A door led to a hallway from which other doors led to a giant Swimming pool, a fantastic library, a cafeteria where every single food item to be had anywhere in the world was available (courtesy of imported house-elves, not that they knew it)

It was some minutes after the last of them entered the hall that their host came.

Harry Potter was received with a loud chorus of 'Hi's, and 'How're you', with much high-fiving and back-thumping entailed. It was a gratifying thing to him too, that these students, each by now a seasoned fighter in their own ways, still had the capability to have some fun.

"Well, people, gather around, gather around." He said, climbing up on top of one of the tables.

"Now, each of you is here because you received invites from those Nuntius birds that I sent, is that right?"

There were affirmative sounds all around the room.

"Well, before I tell you why I called you, tell me, what d'you think of-" waving his hands around in an expansive gesture, he continued "all this?"

"Cedric Diggory was the first to speak. "It's good, Potter. Really good."

Harry beamed at his. "Thank you! I spent an awful lot of time on this you know."

The relaxing effect of his carefree answer, and the lack of response at the improper address, was visibly apparent in the gathered group.

"Well, it shows, really." Blaise Zabini said tentatively.

"So, you all agree that this complex has anything and everything any witch or wizard of our age could possibly need?"

"Yes, really." This was a Ravenclaw, Turpin maybe. She was one of the few Harry had bothered to invite, having not been involved in the Luna affair.

"OK, but I really should get to the point now, eh?"

Harry cleared his throat once, before continuing "Okay, you all probably want to know what we're doing here, yes?"

"Yes, yes" they said hurriedly, waiting for him to carry on.

"Well, see, the thing is, currently gathered in this room, are some of the best and brightest, not to mention some of the most privileged young people in all Britain. You agree?"

It wasn't the sort of statement to which people tended to disagree at all, and that much was visible, in the nods and 'Yes's, and 'Right's, that went around.

"So, you see, I was just lying around, when I thought that hey, instead of being separate and making us all fend for ourselves, why not gather ourselves in one group? I mean, we'd be totally the best at everything, and we'd run this school in a matter of weeks!

"Of course, I already run this whole school by myself, but to have the very best students in here helping me and enjoying some power themselves, well, it'd be fun, no?"

His statement elicited a room wide round of wide eyes and incredulous head shaking, while more than a few people gained interested looks. Sensing the general mood, he continued "See, it would be very simple. The current prefects, club leaders, sports captains (he'd introduced more than a few new sports in Hogwarts, so just Quidditch no longer applied), and all have managed to snatch their positions. A great number of them are you guys, as a matter of fact. But, I was thinking, why not make this the rule, rather than just a onetime occurrence?"

He continued looking around the room again and again, effortlessly slipping into minds and notching up their receptivity to his words just a tad, while planting some ideas, culling others, and in general doing clever mind magic things. He let a charisma spell or two wash over them, while letting out his aura, tuned this time to generate awe and respect instead of fear.

"I mean, I want to make sure that it's the very best who reach positions of power around here. That means that you've got to be smart, able to work hard, ruthless, and all that. But these things sometime take some effort and help to develop. Now I can help you develop those skills, I can teach them to you well enough that you'll thrive not just here, but also in the real world."

So far so good.

Now came the tricky part. Harry spoke a word that caused a faint vapor to rise from the walls of the room, releasing the Unctuous Unction in aerosol form. He allowed them to inhale it, while holding a dramatic pause, till he was satisfied, and spoke again.

"And in return, all that I ask is for you to join this little organization of mine, and abide by its few rules, and in general cooperate with me in all the matters. And, of course, do a few favors for me here and there."

By this time they weren't _quite _incapable of conscious thought, but they _were _severely compromised in their judgement capabilities. It was eventually Neville, who'd known most of the information beforehand, who said "Well, I can't speak for the others, but I'm interested. Count me in, Harry."

"Same for me." Luna said.

It was fairly slow, but concurrences slowly trickled in, finally getting Harry a following in his own generation. None of the gathered knew it yet, but they (at least the ones worth anything), had made the best decision in their lives. This thing, here, would see to it that they would go far, very far indeed.

"Ok, so time to get the formalities out of the way. Now, as for the name, my father had this little group…"

And that was how the Marauders had been born anew in Hogwarts, destined to fulfill the meaning of their name in every way possible.

Harry had been unanimously elected leader within hours of the decision, and he'd outlined a set of objectives and divided up teams to carry them out immediately afterwards. They included the complete domination of the Hogwarts illegal goods market (it was not a very big one, but substantial), an information network that would patch through every shred of data to be had in the finest households that the members belonged to into one central communication centre, complete domination of the student populace, and a great, great deal more.

It was one of the many, many steps Harry took that winter, working tirelessly to establish a powerbase spanning the whole world, from 'donated' contacts, materials, etc. by the Ouroboros Alliance members, to schoolboys and schoolgirls limited not just to Hogwarts but also Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, to increasing his personal magical power exponentially.

Speaking of increasing magical power…

It was the longest, toughest, and most painful training session Harry had even undergone, and it was only beginning. Harry had, several months ago, classified himself as a novice in most of the Olde Magicks, and a master of one of them, Mind Magic.

Now he was a master in almost all of them. Necromancy, War Magic, Elementalism, Divination, and the other subjects had all, although not even nearly _perfected_, had been learned well enough for him to use them expertly. And that would do for now.

Another major subject that he intended to master right now was Summoning.

Sorcery was one of the most powerful branches of magic out there. A lot of people had their own opinions about what it was, but the simplest, cleanest explanation was given by the Royal Camelot Dictionary, which was:

'The art of causing magical effect by utilizing forces not native to the human plane, drawing upon mostly, but not always, from the realm called nevernever.'

There were two branches of Sorcery, Invocation and Summoning. Both were more or less exactly what they sounded like. The first was the art of using the _power_ of otherworldly entities, making bargains with them, while the second just dragged them into this plane from theirs, and then made them do the Summoner's will.

Of course, it also had a great deal to do with the beings themselves. Some were truly powerful beings, gods, demons of near godly power (Mephistopheles, Nicodemus, etc.), fallen angels, and others, who were too powerful to summon. In their case, Invocation was the only way to go. Others were the ones of that the kind that one _should_ not summon, that were just too uncontrollable for anyone other than the finest of experts this kind included Fey, Elemental guardians, and others, basically the kind of creatures who could breach the walls of their own accords, the only thing needed being their names.

Harry had, for the time being, judged that these were simply too much trouble to bother with right now.

However, that still left a whole lot of variety. Balrogs, Skilosh Demons, Hellspawn, Drakons, Djinn, Spirits, amid a vast list. They were the ones that Harry would be focusing on, when he went summoning.

And there were things that had to be understood for that. To put it simple, there were classes of demons. At the lowest rung of the ladder were the lesser demons, minor imps, moulers, Will o' wisps, etcetera, etcetera. At worst they were used to feed other demons, and at best they could be used to carry messages and spy.

Harry had a large number of them watching Azkaban, as a matter of fact.

Above them were the more powerful demons. High-class imps, Screamers, and the like.

They were rather sturdy, powerful things that could take quite some punishment, in addition to dealing it out. These were the foot soldiers, so as to say, especially as their brainpower usually left much to be desired.

Above them were the beings that were traditionally called 'Demons'. They were the most varied by far, ranging from slightly more powerful than an imp, to powerful enough to level cities and dry seas.

Above them were the Arch-Demons, also called Afrits. They were very much similar to Normal Demons, just much more powerful. 99 percent Balrogs belonged to this level, along with the other similar beings.

It was at the stage next to them that things got complicated. Demon Lords, or Marids, almost always possessed extra powers, and were best tangled with only at one's own risk. Harry controlled a number of them, but they were all safely bound inside objects. The Mirror of the Erised alone contained thirteen.

Harry could just about take one on an equal footing, and maybe half a dozen more if he had an hour or two to prepare, but that was it. Of course, one day he would be able to take them on casually, but then he would be able to do a lot of things one day.

Above _them _were the beings known simply as Greater Daemons, and the less said about them, the better.

Harry being Harry, had practiced both Invocation and Summoning extensively, but had deemed the latter to be more suited to his current aims for the time being. Drawing the undue attention of near-omnipotent being this soon was… unpalatable. While if he summoned them, he could at least control them. He could direct what they did or didn't do, and that allowed him considerable leeway as far as self-protection was concerned.

Still, the time to think about it would come. Right now he needed to work.

The hall he was standing in was dark, except for the light that came from the many candles on the floor. There was a large number of them, dotting the intersections and corners in the vast diagram that covered the whole of the floor. In one of the corners there as a comfortable single-seat sofa and it was in this that Harry was lounging.

Floating over his head, in just the right position for him to read it, was a single piece of paper, and it was here that his attention was focused right now. It was a list of names, which he had ordered made by the scholars among his vassals.

They weren't very impressive names, featuring ones like 'Trunklet' and 'Simkin' among others. But then, they _were _just imps.

Finishing off, Harry gave a slight nod, and immediately, the list disappeared.

He knew that every name on that list had just been marked on the central database as 'unavailable'. Unfortunate for the poor souls that had searched them up for themselves, but such was life. With a small stretch, he turned his attention to what he had to do now.

He opened himself to his keystones, letting the power of the leyline flood him, making his extremities tingle. Then, in a voice loaded with power, he spoke the summons.

The language he'd chosen had been Latin, and so the whole thing had to go on for quite a while. He spoke the first section, that of summoning, allowing power to pour from his body into The Other Place, forming into leashes and tethers and manacles, all consisting of pure magic. Then, once that part was complete, came the second part, that of providing a target by virtue of the names of the beings being summoned.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine names were spoken, by the end of which his throat was begun to feel like someone had scrubbed it thoroughly with sandpaper and powdered glass (his voice remained as smooth as ever, of course).

After the names, it was the conditions that enslaved the spirits to his will. Words of power were spoken again and again, creating locks and restraints, combining their power with that of the symbols on the floor, doubling back on themselves and shoring up to create an inescapable bondage.

It was when the last part was nearing its end that effects began to materialize. Clouds of Sulfur, sounds of thunder, of lightning, of women crying, sultry voices, loud flashes, and a whole lot of other drama filled the room, all engineered to do one thing, which was to get him out of his circle, and thus at their mercy.

He made a big show of yawning in his sofa.

After the 60's special effects had cleared away, they were finally visible. And it was a motley display indeed. Had Harry been anyone lesser than he was, he would have gaped at the display. Men with the heads of animals, animals with the heads of men, spiders, tentacle demons, outrageously colored and sized animals, and a whole lot of other things.

As it was, the demons looked around, and before long they were the ones gaping. In their case, it was a matter of numbers. They felt their bonds, and Harry knew those were as strong as they'd ever felt. And then they saw the scene. A thousand imps, and one wizard that had summoned them. _That _was impressive, no matter how one looked at it.

And these were good imps too, high class ones, no one below the 10th level (those were the only imps worth summoning for any fighting jobs anyway, anything lower being only for messages and spying). Of course, some species were opposed to each other on principle, like the Utukku and the Wolf-Soldiers, whose enmity dated back all the way to Al-Arish. But they would all work together under his will. Their lives quite literally depended on it.

Harry didn't waste a lot of time on these. He spoke rapidly, binding the demons to a number of tasks. First and foremost was to protect him from all harm, of course, and there were others, to never betray them, to never attempt to find out his true names, and others that all boiled down to 'obeying his orders, in the spirit of them, without hesitation or demur'. As soon as the last of the words left his lips, he felt the magic in the room changed.

A minute ago the spirits had all been struggling hard, and flexing their powers, trying to make him balk. All that ended in a single moment, and they were left bowing, crushed under the weight of his will.

It was a Brown, horned thing, all fire and brimstone, who spoke eventually. "Well, what'cha want?"

Harry said in a clear and concise tone. "First of all, which of you took part in Arthur's campaigns?"

A sea of hands, flippers, tentacles and assorted parts went up.

"Then understand. We are in Russia right now. I know some of you might have been summoned recently in the last several decades, but that's irrelevant. My first charge to all of you is to spread yourself across the land, and acquaint yourself with its terrain. You will find regions where my magic is strong. Avoid them, but cover all the other areas."

Another demon, this one a Minotaur, bowed, and said. "We obey."

It was followed by affirmative sounds from the rest of the spirits, before they all took off.

Harry watched them go, before turning his attention back to the pentacles. He started speaking again, and the chalk-drawn diagrams changed. They wiggled and moved, like multicolored snakes, before settling again.

By the time they finished, there were considerably fewer summoning circles, while the bindings on them were dramatically stronger.

Harry started on the second batch of summoning. He had to be much more careful now, as these beings were the typical 'Demons', and would all be capable of causing him several problems if he wasn't. If the imps were as powerful as sidewinder missiles, then the beings he was calling upon were small nukes.

There were 108 of them, and the appearances they made were just as dramatic. 20 feet tall slate giants, Wyverns, Chimaeras, old-fashioned horned and scaled monstrosities, Lizard-like creatures, Genies, all could be seen in the room. They all looked around, and the vast majority of them were immediately terrified, while the rest gained interested looks. There was a reason for them, as the majority were weak, barely Seventh or Eighth class. While twenty of them were of Class Twenty, the highest class of demon out there.

He sent them out, tasking them to seek out concentrations of magic not his own and make their own assessments about them.

After that Harry summoned Ten Arch-Demons, and then three Demon Lords. By the end of it, he was severely winded, and his head was hurting from the power he'd had to channel. He waited for a few seconds, letting power wash away his weariness, before continuing. He spoke a continuous stream of words, and he felt their effect immediately.

Bonds of obedience were forged, as the entirety of the host that he'd summoned was organized into three Legions. The 999 imps were divided into Nine Companies of 111, out of which eleven became devoted to scouting, spying and message carrying duties. The remaining Hundred were divided into groups of ten, each commanded by a weaker mid-level demon. Five such groups came under one of the higher level demons, and each group of 111 was under the overall command of an Afrit, three of which answered to a Demon Lord.

Finally, Harry pulled out four summoning horns from his pockets. Three were white, and decorated with elaborate filigree, while the fourth was a pure black, without any decorations at all.

He created new bindings for all of the demons, creating first a secondary line of obedience tying each demon in the host to the Black horn. That one, commanding three Legions, would be for emergencies, when he had no other options left.

For ordinary uses he would be using an object…

Well, that could come later.

After that, each Legion was bound in a tertiary binding to each of the horns.

Once the last of the bindings was set, he dismissed the lot, aware that all he now needed to do to have them ready to fight for him was to call upon them to attend him, or, failing that, blow the appropriate horn.

After that he rested for some hours, before making a few more summoning. A few messengers, some new spies to add to the ones he already had on several of his targets, spying on their every move, their every word.

The last beings he summoned were a retinue of Horlas, Level 15 demons and an Afrit that would now serve as yet another layer in the defense of his person. It was a layer on top of many others, with enchantments, armor, potions, his own scales, and quite a few other means already serving him, but then he'd always been somewhat hazy on the concept of 'restraint'.

And he couldn't fulfill his ambitions if he was dead, could he?

To the onlooker, it would look as if he'd immediately set himself to test the truth of that. After the last of the demons was summoned and bound, Harry entered the time chamber, activated a set of spells, and went to work.

He kicked, punched, jumped, rolled, and pushed for several hours afterwards, doing complete katas for every one of the styles he'd stolen from their masters across the world. Given that there were over a hundred styles, that alone could have been enough to severely exhaust anyone lesser.

Given that he did it all while feeling thirty-four times the natural gravity, even he was slightly tired.

After that there was the kata that he did over a hundred times, that of his own style. It combined the deadliest and most effective movements of each of the styles, while using ideas from one to cover the weaknesses of others.

After _that _was yet another set of martial arts katas, but for a different purpose. These were the movements for one of Harry's pet projects, which was to rediscover that which the Gryffindor family had lost such a long time ago.

Magical martial arts.

It was a simple enough art to enhance one's body using magic. Doing so permanently was what sixty-percent of blood magic was devoted to anyway. Doing so temporarily wasn't a very big deal either, with even wand users having figured it out to several degrees. Strengthening Solution, wit-sharpening potion, the supersensory charm, all these were examples.

But the trick was to do it _effectively. _Mind-potions didn't count. For all its necessity, it was one of the easier organs to muck around with magic. No, there was a beauty of its own in being able to move several times faster, lifting several times more and possessing several times enhanced reflexes that anyone around them, and to do it on a moment's notice, not after blood rituals.

Once the Gryffindors had been masters of the art, being nigh-unstoppable on any battlefield. But it had been lost, with the only things remaining being a few steps in the raw enhancement section.

But enhancement was useless without control, and that was what Harry was trying to teach himself.

Still, time taking as they were, the physical exercises ended, and then he was on to magic. in a smooth motion, five spirits materialized around him, and then they were on. He cast, cast and cast, letting loose killing, maiming and destroying curses with reckless abandon. Now five Demons were no joke, and Harry had to actually struggle in the combat. He took wounds, horrific ones, in a way testing his healing rituals in the process.

To make a long story short, it was a very long session, continuing without so much as a second of rest for well over a week and a half in accelerated time, in which he brought out and used everything he'd learned.

By the end of it, Harry was left a mess of slowly mending wounds, far beyond pain and exhaustion and into that limbo between life and death where the will was the only thing that kept the body moving. He had suffered magical exhaustion time and again, pushing onwards ruthlessly, ignoring the pain, and it was _tremendous_, with a practiced ease.

Some might have questioned why he was doing this. Why it was, that he was torturing himself in this way. The answer wasn't 'to test himself', or 'because it was his duty to his soldiers' or anything as stupid and cheesy.

It was, as ever, very practical. The healing magics on his body were the adaptive sort. If they faced anything, any injury, poison, disease or other ailment once, they could adapt to it, and the second time it would be a matter of seconds for them to get rid of it.

That was all the reason Harry needed. Although the memories of unspeakable pain were an always welcome addition to his mind (one day he would fling them at any legilimancer stupid enough to attack him, and that tactical, logical reason made it all worth it).

After Harry had slept off the effects of his training session, he apparated to Hogwarts. It was two thirty in the night, and he had some important and incredibly delicate work to do. As soon as he was within his office in the chamber, Harry looked at the enchantment matrix of the castle. With a few gestures, he went to work.

A slight pulse of magic swept through the castle, too little to be detected even by the finest of sensors, and little slits opened up in the walls of the Gryffindor third year girls' dormitory.

Out of them, draught of living death soon emanated in aerosol form, taking but a few minutes to make all occupants of the room totally dead to the world. After that, a second pulse of magic occurred, without any discernible effect. Had one looked very, very closely at one of the beds, they might just have discovered that it was occupied by a life-size, completely identical doppelganger of Ginny Weasley, with the girl herself whisked off by the magic moments ago.

She had appeared in the Chamber of Secrets below Hogwarts, and it was once she arrived here that Harry went to work on her. Quickly and effectively he put her down, hands out wide and legs clamped together, on a ritual circle. Standing up, he uttered a few words. Immediately, the runes comprising the ritual started glowing.

They glowed brighter, and brighter, while Harry busied himself with a set of syringes, containing potions that he injected into her veins. They were followed by a series of spells, at the end of which a faint, ethereal string started becoming visible on the first plane.

Harry focused on the thread, watching patiently as it steadily grew more and more tangible.

It was the magical representation of the life debt this girl owed him, and Harry now intended to use it for a purpose much more relevant than what it had once been meant for. As soon as the string of ure, ancient magic was fully tangible and glowing, Harry bent and extracted a small quantity of blood from the girl via a syringe. He spread it along specific glyphs on the ritual circle, watching as it flowed this way and that. The process was repeated then, this time with Harry's own blood.

After that, Harry picked up a very particular device that he had made some days ago. It was like a wand, just ending in a cubical block, instead of the typical slightly pointed tip. He wrapped her fingers around it, waiting for the telltale red indicator to light up.

As soon as it did, his attention shifted to the small measurement units on the block, watching as they rose to full. As soon as that happened, the light on the indicator turned white, indicating that the crystal had now extracted the needed amount of magic from her. Another few seconds, and it turned green, which meant that it was ready. Harry removed the crystal, putting another in its place.

He repeated the process, and then set both crystals together on the ground. After that, it was another set of bloodlettings, this time on the second ritual circle that was a few feet away from the first. Afterwards, he moved into the second circle, positioning himself in its middle so that the thread of the life debt coincided with an actual line of runes drawn on the floor.

As soon as he was in position, a sound was heard, before the ritual glyphs lit up, signifying that it was ready. A few levitations saw the remaining components into their places, and it began. Harry started chanting in a mixture of languages, invoking some old gods, magic itself, and certain specific phenomena.

It continued for several minutes, Harry's magic leaving him, shaping into different spells according to his will, and then imposing itself on the mind, body, and soul of the girl, turning the life debt she owed him into a soul bond.

The process didn't take long. Soon enough, the thread of the debt was a thick chain, and soon after that, it disappeared, hidden away from sight or sense. The disappearing was followed by the girl returning to her dorm, and it was after that that Harry let the circles disappear, before conjuring a recliner and lying down.

He rested for a few minutes, before picking up a small figure, a model of Ginny Weasley. He cast a number of spells on it, knowing that they would act on her perfectly, while not leaving a hint of magic.

The active parts of the bond, where she would have to obey his every word and command, he left untouched. He didn't need them. But he used the passive parts, encoding certain compulsions irrevocably into her psyche.

A compulsion to study hard, to be something, to become talented was one thing, a magnification of the dislike she already held towards poverty and second-hand clothes another. The list went on.

As he did, his mind turned to what he'd just done. Soul bonds were actually a popular element in romance novels, spread about by moronic authors who had no idea what they were doing. They painted soul bonds as some sort of soul mates equivalent, playing on the made-for-each-other rubbish.

Harry doubted that they would have all that much interest in them, had they known what the things actually _were_. To know it, one would have to understand the relevant context.

There were three components of all beings. The body, that was, essentially, the blood, after that the soul, and then the magic (which was the most important, able to alter both the other components).

Now there existed ways to use each of these to bind one sentient being to another. Vassals that had been bound several generations ago, magical beasts, were all bound by blood, all of them (Well, except those that Harry controlled, but that was a story for another time). Other ways, familial bonds, inherited positions, were also examples of blood bindings.

Then there were magical bonds. Those included the Imperius, any number of compulsions, the Unbreakable Vow, and others. They were by far the most common, as to create them was often a trivial matter, compared to the other two.

Soul bonds were the last category. They bound a soul to another, on the most fundamental level. These bonds persisted even after death, with properly made ones being able to breach the void itself with impunity.

Now quite naturally, things weren't quite that clean cut. The bindings _always_ overlapped a bit. Vassal bonds were more Blood-Magic bonds, and The Unbreakable Vow was more a magic-soul bond. To put it simply, every bond capable of being passed down along a family _had_ to have a blood component to it. But that was fine.

What was more relevant here was that most of the time, these bonds had to be entered into willingly by both the parties involved, so that the bond could form properly. But, there were exception. A life debt was a very big obligation on a person's soul, more than enough to allow for a soul bond to form. And that was what Harry had done. Ginny Weasley was now a puppet for him, to use as he saw fit. And he had certain plans for her.

Harry went back to his representation of the Hogwarts ward schema, and did some alterations in it, awakening certain sections and deactivating others. Their effect couldn't be seen yet, but it would be felt in the long run.

Because the entire school was already carrying a minor loyalty and trust ward keyed to him, but what he had done was an even more subtle bit of mind magic. From that day onwards, Blaise Zabini would start to develop a very, very slight interest in redheads. It would be followed by him 'noticing' a certain girl an year his junior, and things should continue on that vein.

It wouldn't hurt that from that day onwards the girl in question would start being altered, consuming certain potions with her food and certain spells being cast on her at regular intervals.

It wasn't going to be quick. Harry expected them to have serious feelings for each other by the middle of Zabini's fifth year, which should turn into 'love' a fairly long while after that. While throughout that time they would be enlightened to the merits of Harry's system, seeing the example of it at Hogwarts. Who knew, it might become necessary to use Ginny to cajole the Zabinis out of neutrality, it might not.

But it was better to have that option and not need it, than the opposite.

It was but one of the steps he was taking then, in the long process of tying off loose ends. The next thing was to activate a series of simulacrums. And these weren't ordinary ones that could be simply made out of snow and some wood, coupled with some spells.

No, Harry had taken seven of the brain dead death eaters to Russia, where he had, through a series of blood magic rituals, transformed them into exact replicas of himself, down to a close representation of his magical core. Then he'd done a quick bit of soul magic, slicing of a very, very thin stretch of his soul (about as much as went in a portrait), locked it into position, and then topped it with a spell matrix consisting of animation and sentience spells normally found on portraits or chess pieces.

The end result was seven perfect simulacrums, each of them acting, smelling, testing and feeling exactly like him. Their higher thought functions were somewhat limited, sure, but they were more than capable of executing the detailed orders that he would be transmitting regularly to them. And in any case the most strenuous things they had to do would all be taken care of the ultra-capable secretarial staff that he'd handpicked from his vassals, while if they had to do any magic in public (which they would skillfully avoid whenever possible), there were spirits that had been bound to take care of it.

Harry had been preparing for this for a very long time, and every variable had been considered and reconsidered dozens of time. He knew it would work.

Harry was sitting in one of the main fortresses, surrounded by the 'Russia' subcommittee of the Ouroboros Alliance.

"Okay, Selene. Final Sit-Rep."

"Sir, all of the Legions have been stationed in their respective bases. All officers have been familiarized with all levels of immediate planning. WMDs are in position and awaiting Launch codes."

"What about Auxiliaries?"

"Legions Nineteen to twenty-five, consisting of former Azkaban Prisoners, the late mercenaries entries, and the final wave of vassals that have come from the alliance are currently in the second-to-final levels of their training, sir. They shall be ready for deployment in three to five weeks."

A round of nods went around the table at this. It was nothing they hadn't already known, but the reconfirmation was gratifying anyway.

"Okay then. Now, apart from the personnel perspective, what about equipment? Their primary wands, staves, side-arms, grenades, and all that?"

"Everything has been tested a minimum of three times, sir. They are in proper working conditions."

"Okay. Auxiliary supplies?"

"100% efficiency, sir."

Under his breath, Harry muttered "With any luck, they won't even be used."

He started to question about the equipment and items that most certainly _would_ be used.

"Tell me about the nonliving units, starting with the Infantry."

"Final Inferi count is at eight point three million, sir. Golems are an even six million units."

"What, the MI golems?" Mobile Infantry was the type that Inferi and other humanoid golems made up, along with an array of automatons, and nonhuman Inferi. It was named so, because it could be moved and maneuvered very rapidly according to the controller's wishes.

"Yes, sir. The MI golems. The Heavy golems are at One point eight million units."

Heavy golems consisted of many types, from twenty-foot concrete-titanium statues, to merely Eight-Nine foot "Loew Model' ones. Each of them could (and to be honest, had) single handedly defeated entire tank regiments.

"What about the automatons?"

"Do you require a type-by-type listing, sir?"

"No. Just a general figure will do."

"Nine million, sir."

"Nine million, divided again between the Mobile and Heavy units."

It was far from the numbers that he had manufactured, but the problem was, once again, in the human element. He had several times the mentioned numbers in all units lying back in Britain and a great number of them even here in Russia, but they were useless without humans to control them.

Still, there was nothing that could be done.

It went in that vein, Harry getting final reports on the numbers of all his forces, before he asked for updates from the men themselves.

In an hour, he had received the 'Ready to go' responses from every General, Colonel and Captain, and then, just like that, it was started.

Throughout the bases, the respective AIs assigned to every regiment released specific codes, confirming old orders and activating old plans, although with alterations caused by fresh data, to be read and destroyed by the officers immediately, and then to be followed with implementation within hours.

Because Harry didn't intend to enter this war with a communiqué, or with a sudden dramatic reinforcement of some beleaguered party. He knew that the Strassinovs had recently captured three more leylines belonging to three separate factions, which had put the respective parties in somewhat dire straits. Under normal circumstances, they would eventually have managed to take them back, or take something else.

Not this time.

Soon, the officers manning the comm. links alerted Harry to the confirmation messages arriving from the Legions. He gave out the respective authentications, and that was it, the decisions were made.

Three of the Legions would remain garrisoned, waiting this battle out, while fifteen legions were divided in three groups of five, which would each take one primary fortress. Barring unforeseen complications, three major factions would fall this very day, with their leaders dead and their keystones replaced. It had taken Harry considerable amount of money and effort to extract the locations of those men, who usually made a point out of concealing their whereabouts very thoroughly.

It was a risky move, to be honest. He was putting most of his army on the line. But it had to be done. that army had been in training exercises for the last several months (years from their perspectives), and had been systematically acclimatized to this terrain, given experience of the style of fighting of the factions they were going against, and thoroughly prepared in every way that counted over the last month and a half.

It was another several minutes before the last of the communications was completed, the last orders given out. Harry settled in his chair. The attacks would be launched in exactly twenty minutes from then. He looked around. Everyone seemed on edge, nervous and yet excited for what was coming.

"Well, gentlemen, Selene will keep me in constant communication with this room. I wish you good luck."

One of the men, a Potter vassal if he remembered correctly, asked. "Where are you going, sir?"

"Oh, just on a little trip."

The man tried to hide his disapproval at the perceived abandonment, but Harry could see right through him. He smiled to himself. Little did the man know…

He apparated to one of the bases that no one, not even the portraits knew about. Walking in, he made his way to the armory, bedecked with an array of ridiculously powerful weapons. Turning from them, he opened a closet, and pulled out a change of clothes.

He had been tempted to go with a medieval look, with all shining armor and cape, but decided against it. Nor did he happen to find combat fatigues particularly suited. He'd settled on simple enough uniform, in blacks and grays (of course). Over it was Basilisk hide armor, on his hands were the same fingerless gloves that he'd made a receptacle for the Mirror's power.

Over the course of the last several months, Harry had created several extremely powerful weapons, borrowing from muggle weapons and ancient magic alike.

Most of them were run-of-the-mill types, but some had been augmented beyond all reasonable or unreasonable boundaries, becoming mystic codes first and then into full-blown Noble phantasms. All of them were now pulled out of their shelves, and strapped onto their correct places.

It wasn't a _too _heavy mixture. He wasn't covered in weapons like some of his ancestors he knew. But there was enough that could make anyone facing him have a very, very bad day.

As he looked at one of the single most powerful weapons he had, Harry was reminded of the day he'd forged it.

_The pieces of metal were finally at the correct temperature. Harry had left them on the hearth thirteen hours ago, set to be heated while putting in place a nexus to keep working spells at them._

_But it was finally done. Even though it didn't have the luster right now, or the cross-guard or the crystals, the blade was even more beautiful now than it'd previously been, Harry would have to admit that much at least. He had been surprised when it'd broken the moment he'd pulled it out of its sheath, only to remember the tales about it that he had read._

_Rolling up his sleeves, Harry went to work on the Sword of Godric Gryffindor. He hammered the blade again and again, reshaping the two pieces of metal, forging them together again. He had to be careful not to damage it, which was remarkably easy to do at this time, when it's protection magics were ripped away like this._

_He worked for several hours, hammer hitting the metal, him picking it up (barehanded, of course), then carefully checking the consistency and metal nature distribution (soft in the middle, hard at the edges), all the while pouring magic into it. Sometimes necromantic, sometimes elemental, sometimes dimensional, at times elemental, but most often it was raw chaos._

_It was only after the sword was at the perfect point, when its metal consistency, its balance, each of its aspects was utterly perfect, that he started to hum a slight tune. It wasn't any random song. Rather, it was a composition that had been created, in a land far away and long gone, for the very purpose of forging a sword. That didn't mean it was just one song continuing for all that time. No, everyone of the family it came from who picked up a hammer and tongs to forge a true sword had contributed something to it._

_It varied. Some added a note, some a whole line, some several stanza's worth. But the essence remained the same. The song/poem/verse/ballad/hymn (it depended on who you asked) sang of the nature of the sword, its edges, its metal, its cut, everything that made a blade what it was. More than the blade in question, it sang of the _concept _of the sword, the very idea behind a bladed weapon._

_Its power was immense, and it drew from the forger, his predecessors, and to a small extent, reaching beyond time, his successors. The more the skill and power of the maker of the sword, the closer the weapon came to being the very embodiment of the inclined plane._

_Harry was humming it in his tune, focusing on what the sword _was _and what he wanted it to _be. _And as the words, laden with power, left his lips, the sword changed. Harry's hands continued falling in their steady rhythm, and slowly, certainly, spell after spell, piece after piece of magic wove its way into the blade. Its edges grew sharper, harder, while its middle became solid, more solid than an oak, and yet flexible like rubber. _

_It continued for a long time, delicate, intricate changes taking place one after another._

_Of course, Harry wasn't spreading this out for fun. Things had to be done at this rate, slowly and steadily, because while even an ordinary blade held the potential of becoming the finest sword in existence under this magic, doing it badly could ruin even the finest of swords._

_And this was a very, very special sword._

_This blade had seen countless civilizations rise and fall, it had seen kings enthroned with itself at their sides and other kings whose heads had fallen after it touched their necks. It had known more names than anyone cared to count._

_It was a sword that had been called, at times, the embodiment of all goodness and at others the evil that was at the core of all things. Because this was the sword that Harry's ancestors had both wielded and died by._

_This was the blade that cleaved the One True Ring from the finger of the greatest Lich King of all time._

_This was the blade that had killed the mad dragon-king, wielded by the man who became Kingslayer._

_This was the blade that had slain the Dragon called Saphira, and later the dwarf-king called Hrothgar._

_It was this sword that had glorified the hand of the Cimmerian, and slain monsters uncounted at the twitch of his wrist._

_It had been by this blade that the head of Darius, Emperor of Persia, had had his head removed from his shoulders._

_It was Elendil, Zar'roc, Undwith, and a thousand other names._

_Every male of consequence that had ever been born in the bloodline of the Blood God had wielded that blade, regardless of what the family name might have been. When they were the House of Lannister, then it was Jaime Lannister. When the era was one without last names, then the wielder had no last name. It mattered not._

_This blade, right here, this stretch of Celestial-grade Mythril was one of the most celebrated weapons of all time._

_Harry observed the complex matrix of spells that was now in place around the sword, making it impervious, unbreakable, unstoppable. He looked on the tiny veins at its edges, which would always be full of Basilisk venom once he was done. He looked at the distortion in the fabric of the magic, which was the replication of the werewolf curse, in that no wound by this sword would ever heal._

_There were a lot of other changes that he made, working tirelessly, endlessly, making his sword the finest work he had ever done. A true piece of art. Indeed, the ultimate piece of art._

_Eventually, it was done. The blade was finished, the hilt was done, the guard was finished, and the sheath was finished. All that remained was to quench the blade. _

_He'd returned two days ago from a raid with the Strassinovs, as part of his preparations for the onslaught that would be released in February. It was nothing very special, just the destruction of a supply depot belonging to the Alex's. But he'd returned with something special this time. A prisoner that he'd captured. _

_It wasn't his first prisoner, far from it. He'd captured many, mainly for information gathering. But this one was special._

_Harry made the man kneel, before picking up the blade, ready for the grisly deed. Then, pausing for a moment to set his hand, he ran the would-be-sword through the man's heart._

_The blood of a captured foe was the traditional way to quench a blade of this potency, after all. And while under normal circumstances Harry had no problem with telling tradition to take a walk, it had a very nice power boost he was loath to forsake for such an insignificant cost (well okay, the cost was irrelevant. If what had been required was to quench it in the heart-blood of a thousand infants, he'd still have done it without blinking an eyelid, as long as they weren't magical) _

_But the sacrifice had worked perfectly, using the energies of the man's death to bind the enchantments to the blade._

_After that it was several hours of polishing and woodwork._

The sword was one of the most powerful things he had in his arsenal, but thankfully, there was more.

Back when Harry had enchanted one hundred and eleven rings to all be Noble Phantasms, as perfect as they could be for their purposes, using every method from ordinary quality control to item-world manipulation, one of the rings had been much, much more special than the rest.

He'd still been thinking of having the sorcerers in his army (there were more than a few, thankfully), work with him to summon a massive war host on top of the one he already had, when he'd chanced upon an entry in the Lords' journal of the Sharr family, detailing a state visit to King Gilgamesh's court.

…_And there was the King of Uruk and all Sumer, sitting high and mighty on his throne, watching with a brooding eye the fawning courtiers that he surrounded himself with. Only he knew what he looked for, in his endless suspicion and lust. He gazed, and they all struggled like rabbits to avoid his eyes, mindful of keeping themselves ever deferential._

_I had wondered for this behavior, for it seemed odd, to say the least, for a court full of some of the finest sorcerers in the land to bow and scrape such to such a little wisp of a lad._

_Our own lands are too far away, so it can be understood that we don't know of the cause that well, but it is intriguing, and…_

Another entry from the same person shed more light.

_I have finally found the reason. It is terrible and strange, perhaps even ludicrous in some opinions. But he has a ring. It is a little thing, a small band of gold with a little black diamond, but it is the sole reason for the rapid rise of this Kingdom. That much I now understand. It is undoubtedly one of the…_

The man went on for pages, but the short version was that the ring was a direct, permanently open portal to Nevernever, more specifically to the sections of it that were called simply as 'The Other Place' or 'The Warp'. They housed an infinite number of daemons and spirits, and were the pool all sorcerers typically drew upon from.

Of course, an always open portal was just what one _didn't _want to such a place, so it was logical to derive that there had to be a spirit bound to the ring itself, that did the job of dragging the spirits out into this world, and, more importantly, the jobs of maintaining them here, under ample restraints, most important of which was protecting its wearer from them.

It would have to be an incredibly powerful spirit, that much was self evident, if it had to do such a job.

Now, the complicated part was, Harry _knew_ about such rings. He had checked out the journal entry against some other historical data, and it was true. The portraits of Gilgamesh, (inanimate, given that the tech for soul-linked portraits hadn't been invented then) had the ring, his court historians had left records about it, and the amount of material that he had found about the Nobles of that very court plotting for the ring in question weighed quintals in parchment.

So it was real, and it was oddly similar to the ones that had been made by Sauron, not to mention the ones from Egypt.

Once he knew what to look for, the damn thing had a paper trail a mile wide and long. Or to be accurate, the _concept _had a trail.

And it was simple enough. Summon a powerful enough demon, bind it to a funky object, place a series of strictures, bindings, spells, etcetera, etcetera to allow the spirit to do all the complicated bits about summoning something, like the locking injunctions, the doubled-back clauses, the invoking of the corrosive power of herbs, symbols, and whatnot.

Then commands would be given to the spirit, and it pass them on to the spirits under it. And they, under the bindings of their summoning, would do the hard work.

A simple, effective arrangement, where the only thing the human involved had to do was to give orders and his magical energy. No complex arguments in the middle of a battlefield, no considerations that had to be remembered and reasoned before giving an order. Both had killed more summoners that any other way, and they were all removed by this means.

Of course, had it been quite that easy then everyone would have done it. The object in question: ring, staff, sword, whatever had to be prepared very carefully, in a long, considerably elaborated process that, if one tiny step went wrong, could release enough power to equal a small volcano.

The point was, Harry didn't have that ring, neither one similar to it. (Timonzel had possessed one, but it'd been destroyed on his death. There might just be one or two lying around in that permanently locked room in the Department of Mysteries, but that was irrelevant anyway.

Now, strictly speaking, Harry didn't _need _this. He already had a large (well, for one summoner) army of demons he'd himself summoned, and another that made up a significant part of his legions, summoned by his vassals.

But the fact was, he had the means to make as many as he wanted. And Harry _loathed_ to leave resources untapped. So he had researched up the binding strictures, assimilated The Stormbringer's memories of it, and then went about it.

The result was now being lifted from the box it was in, before being allowed to settle on Harry's left ring finger. It contained a Greater Daemon, a spirit that could easily be considered Royalty-class ((in a measuring system that harkened back to the days when all Nevernever was judged along the Fey courts' power levels). In short, more than powerful enough to provide him with any number of spirits he needed.

Indeed, he had already tested it out, as part of suborning the spirit. It had effortlessly provided him over _five thousand _demons, out of them a hundred Balrogs, and fifty Demon Lords. Such a summoning was enough to burn down the known world three times over, and was well beyond what the entire Sorcerers' guild could manage, even working together.

Indeed, he could quite possibly have won the whole war using it alone, but the unfortunate thing was that it drained magic like it was going out of fashion. Now, he had an infinite supply, but channeling the needed amounts through himself would see him a crisp faster than he could say 'Ouch!', so he was restrained to a (very) large but still finite number, reduced further due to his other needs.

Namely, his needs to be able to do something that was more than point and destroy. Harry wanted inherit a country, not a wasteland.

All of this passed through Harry's mind in the time it took him to pull on the ring. He reacted to the pain he felt, and it was _immense_, by clamping down on his occlumency shields, and then touching his finger to kill the nerve endings in it. Given that the pain was magical, the action did not end it, but it _was_ substantially reduced.

Harry had, over the course of the last several months (decades to him), prepared a host of artifacts. The Sword and the ring were the most powerful, but far from the only ones.

The horns were there, of course, but there was more. The simplest thing was a locket, a little circular piece of beaten silver with a Beryl inset that he placed around his neck.

It didn't look like anything extraordinary, and that was exactly as Harry wanted it. As a matter of fact the beryl was hollow, and carried an undetectable extension charm. It contained exactly one hundred thousand prime specimens of his golems, inferi, automatons of the various types, and the other major infantry types.

Excessive as the numbers were, Harry had a feeling he'd end up needing them sooner or later. Still, time to continue. It went on for several minutes more, Harry carefully putting on and activating the weapons he'd spent the last several months preparing.

Till it was done.

Harry apparated.

"Well, gentlemen, this is it. All our training, all our practicing was for this day only. So, are you ready?" the asker's name was General Marcus Vickston, and he had been given overall command of Assault Force Alpha, the group made up of five legions that was tasked with destroying the primary fortress of the Republican faction called 'The Novgorod League'.

"Sir yes sir!" came the answer.

"Well, people. Remember that we have the best training in the world, the best equipment, and the very best leader, who is depending on us to crack this mothefucker open for him and roast the bastards inside. Are we going to disappoint him?"

"No sir, Never!" came the answer.

"Alright. Gear up, we roll out in ten minutes."

He walked into the command tower, where all of the fifteen colonels and the 75 captains were already present.

"Okay, people. Time for the last go-over." He said, as the AI assigned to him lit up the air with a large-scale projection of the Map of Russia.

"We are this." he said, indicating a mark on the map.

"The building we have to take is this." another mark was pointed out.

"Now, till a few weeks ago, the enemy had fortress class wards interlinked with Sovereign grade ones, spread all over the area they control. As we know, they were powered by the ley lines under their control, which are one primary, six secondary, and a dozen lesser ones."

Nods went around. All of this was common knowledge.

"Now what changed was that that their sovereign grade wards were all triangulated off of _this _particular tower-fortress, which was also a major powering pool, sitting on the intersection of three ley lines." He indicated a point some hundred miles from their position.

"As we know, it is no longer under their control. It fell to the Strassinovs some weeks ago. I believe some of us were a part of that?"

A woman in her early thirties, one of the Slytherin vassals if he remembered correct, raised a hand. "Yes, sir, I was there."

She was followed by a few others here and there, till he waved them down.

"Now, this means that not only are their Sovereign wards down, the Fortress class shields and enchantment web also had a hole ripped out of it." He said with just a hint of a smile.

"But they can't be stupid enough to leave it that way, could they?" one of the Captains asked.

"No, no, captain they can't. We shall be operating under the belief that they have patched it up significantly, reacquiring sixty-percent efficiency. Be advised that the actual numbers are probably far lower, given that the lost fortress also had a rather big store of wardstones, keystones and weapon supplies, that they don't have the resources to just replace so soon.

"Also, the loss of three ley lines also overburdens their keystones seriously, which is another advantage for us."

Another round of nods circulated at this, interjected with a few questioning looks. "Yes?" he asked, looking at one of the questioning faces.

"I thought ley lines could supply unlimited power, sir?"

"They can, soldier. But there is a limit to how much the keystones can channel without going into meltdown, and their keystones have to be near the limit. They've got just too much magic functioning."

"Anyway, we don't have all day for this, so any further technical queries will have to wait." He announced somewhat loudly, to catch the attention of the few who had started looking around.

"So, we have two primary objectives. The first is that we need to get tech teams into the building, who will then find the location of the keystones, figure out a way to shut them down, and replace them with our keystones. Given that this building sits of a cluster of one primary and three secondary lines, we have to get at least four teams in safe and sound. Clear?"

"Yes sir"

"Now, this works in closely with the other primary objective. We need to find these men." He said, before a complicated gesture of his hands had several blown-up photographs projected in the air from the mirrors in the walls.

"They're all members of the RCC (Revolutionary Command Council), and _have_ to be taken. I can't overstress this, people. Any one of them surviving free will make this war a hell of a lot longer than it has to be. It has taken the spooks a lot of effort to get them all in this building at the same time, and we can't fail this thing."

"So no pressure." One of the colonels said.

"No, none at all. So, here's how this is going to be. We move in _here-_" he indicated a spot a quarter miles from the fortress "We bunker down, Land the base buildings, and then set up our heavy artillery to give their wards a thorough pounding. Meanwhile, as soon as he have their attention, we raise our shields, and while they waste time hammering them, the air force starts strafing runs."

"Now they'll have to split their attention to start suppressing fire at the flyboys, and this is when a tech team moves in and puts up siege wards."

Siege wards, on hearing the name, sounded like something defensive in nature. In truth, they were a set of wards that more or less did everything that normal wards did, only in reverse. Essentially, the outside of a building was being warded from those inside it.

"Now these boys are heavy on artillery. So the wards won't stand for long. But they'll last long enough, for us to do some serious beatdown on their wards, yes?" he asked, turning to one of the tech. corps' leader that was standing unobtrusively on the side.

"Yes, they will."

"Now, we're counting on their keystones to be severely taxed, and the heavy burden that their wards will become, not to mention the artillery, should push them into meltdown. It won't be quick, at least some hours' work, but it will be done."

"But just in case, there are a number of contingencies. They can take down specific sections of the wards, or shut down their Artillery and release their Infantry and air forces. Our estimates say that they don't have all that great numbers of either, which is why they've been defensive for the last several years, but they could be wrong. In any case, this is where we release our forces, and start taking down their numbers. Clear?"

"Sir yes sir!"

"All right. Move out, there are ten minutes left"

What he hadn't told them, because they didn't need to know, was that with a few exceptions, all their work was diversionary action.

It was simple, really. In the whole army, every single regiment in every single legion had two technical teams, trained in everything from controlling and recreating bindings on demons to warding and curse-breaking to repairing mystic codes. That meant that there were going to be thirty teams in play here today. Out of them, fifteen would stay right here, working on the needed pieces of complicated magic that they had to do, along with the inevitable emergency repair work, in which they would be working with the medical corps (who had similar numbers, but by and large would be staying right there).

The other fifteen were going to be doing far more interesting work.

He continued thinking, while reflexively donning his armor and weapons, till it was time.

He put on the communicator that they all had been issued with, a black piece that was hooked onto the ear, with a mike extending halfway down the cheek and a little bit of glass extending horizontally over the eye. He knew that the visor was perhaps the greatest weapon of everything they carried, carrying spells that allowed the wearer to look through surfaces, use look on all seven planes (which, when it was a natural talent was called mage sight or third vision), and also had all of the spells on an Omniculars set.

Similar scenes had just ended with the Assault forces Epsilon and Sigma, who were operating on similar plans, just engineered for their respective needs. They were led by the two Marshals in Harry's army, mainly as the fortresses they were tasked with had been judged vulnerable in those ways by the analysts.

So, when the time came, it was a simultaneous attack on three on the strongest contenders in the war, and it was being carried out by superbly trained, superbly equipped armies, who were all dedicated to the cause of their Master.

Said master was on a mission of his own. After he'd geared up properly, Harry had gone out, intent on some serious slaughter and conquest. His aim was simple. As far as the Generals knew, the main fortresses would fall today, and the secondary ones, left easy pickings, in the coming days.

It was not so, not at all.

Harry intended to finish the three factions once and for all, and that meant taking everything they had in one, single, blitzkrieg attack.

"So, there are exactly twenty-one places that we need to take care of, yes?"

"Yes, Harry" Selene said in his ear.

"Okay. So, do one thing. Prep an info packet, containing all the details, like the exact locations, levels of preparation, etcetera, etcetera, of… fourteen of them. Actually, let me point them out."

"Certainly, Harry." The answer came, before his visor displayed a map of Russia with all the enemy strongholds marked out. The ones his forces were taking were already crossed out, and Harry crossed out another seven, separating them for himself.

In a few moments, he felt Selene gently probing his mind, before depositing the data.

"Okay, so, here we go." Harry steeled himself, and drew upon his powers, before he turned the ring on his finger.

Immediately, he could feel the spirits that made up his bodyguard retinue quail, utterly terrified. There were spirits mighty enough to level cities among them, and they quailed at the feel of thering.

With good reason.

The world grew dark. All sound in the air ceased, and the sun's warmth dimmed noticeably, while the Earth seemed to be suddenly burdened. A presence of purest blackness, looking like a hole in the air, materialized beside Harry.

Rolling his eyes, Harry said loudly. "Cut that out, Uzariel"

Immediately, the special effects ended. What was left behind was still intimidating, in the form of a giant shadow standing tall, but now seemed somewhere close to professional.

"You're no fun." The spirit of the ring, also one of the most powerful entities in the whole of Nevernever, spoke.

It continued. "Anyway, ahem. **What is your will, ringbearer?**"

"Ah, getting professional, are we?" Harry said casually (and as tiring as the charade of not being an emotionless psychopath was, it was a fairly amusing role).

He pushed the information in his mind to the spirit, down the bond between them.

A few seconds later, he knew it had been understood, as the spirit asked. **"I see. And?"**

"I want them all razed to the ground within the hour. Take the occupants alive wherever possible, but it is not a necessity. And I want both myself and Selene to be informed as soon as they fall."

"**It shall be done."** Harry heard.

And then he had to look away, because what happened then caused his mage sight to hurt, as the world seemed to light up in a blaze of colors. He saw Uzariel grow bigger and bigger, till it resembled more a mountain that anything else.

Had he not been the only one capable to seeing the spirit, Harry could have been worried about that.

Of course, the successive events made discretion and secrecy irrelevant. The giant slapped its hands together, before pulling them apart. And when they separated, a portal opened between them. It was a hole in the sky, like a fiery wheel tilted on its side. The fires extended like spokes towards its center, burning with great ferocity, yet no heat reached Harry, and neither was its brightness reflected on the ground or the trees below.

It was there, but not there, a window to another world.

And through it, they came.

They were like a swarm of bees, like a curl of smoke. Noisy, with the whispers of their wings sounding as the rumbling of clouds, they descended to the Earth in a spiral, growing thick, then thin, and thick again.

As they neared, Harry saw details, forms every bit as exotic as the ones worn by any of his other summoned servants. Claws and beaks aplenty, jagged talons, tentacles and smoke dominated the sight. Flames coiled over bodies, and weapons shone. Scimitars, maces, rifles, broadswords, tank turrets, clutched in hands, tentacles, tails and other, even more elaborate appendages.

There were thousands of them, certainly far beyond anything any nation save Persia could have mustered. And not one of them was anything lesser that a level fifteen demon, that much Harry could sense easily.

He saw Balrogs, Ram-headed Daemons, screamers and Chaos demons. They swarmed the sky, hovering silently in the air, blotting out everything. Till the last of them came, and the hole closed behind them. And then they dispersed, dividing into exactly fourteen separate armies.

He would have looked at them for longer, but he didn't have time.

He took to the air himself, first matching then surpassing the speed of sound in slightly more than a second (to exact, it was 1.209 seconds, slightly better than his previous record of 1.351 seconds. But then, he was that kind of person).

And so it was on.

As he approached the castle, Harry went over what he knew about them. The Council of Trepalnov was another republican faction, one that had somewhat better reserves of active soldiery and weapons that the Novgorod League. If he remembered correctly (and he always did), he'd sent the Air Marshal to lead the five legions as the Assault force Epsilon.

Intel reports had indicated that they had just moved their troops from the main fortress to the secondary ones, with a substantial contingent, around three or four million strong, to the very castle that Harry was headed to.

Well, that should be just about enough to give him a decent workout. Although he did wonder how they would be controlling them. Meaning that the controllers would, of course, have to be among or slightly behind the controlled objects, but would they mark themselves out clearly, or do the smart thing? (Harry's controllers for his non-living infantry were clothed and armored exactly the same as the infantry itself, which made it utterly impossible for anyone without the third eye to pick them out. Even with it, it was deucedly difficult)

As he neared the castle, he knew. Well, it had been too much to expect that war-tired minds would have the imagination anyway. He could see the columns marching out, with dirty-half rotted inferi, golems, and transfigured items marching out. For a second he wondered why the hell was that happening, but then he remembered.

Well, the chaps had their comm. systems top notch, at least, if reinforcements were already rolling out in minutes of the attack. Although judging by the state of readiness, they must have been planning a march to somewhere anyway.

Still, it didn't matter anyway.

Harry went to work immediately, casting diagnostic spells, aimed to locate just who it was that the magical bindings were controlled by. The spells, obviously, showed no result. That was fine, anyone who'd taken control of nine leylines couldn't be that stupid anyway.

He moved on to higher spells, while drifting gently to keep up with the war host. No result. It was when he was at the very highest echelons of divination magic, that he struck gold. Whatever the spells keeping the bindings hidden from his third eye were, they had been broken or ignored by Harry's magic. He activated the mage sight, and then looked at the marching soldiers again.

Only to frown in annoyance, as the strings showed a convoluted mess, tied this was and that, making it completely impossible to identify who the leaders were. It had been expected, but that didn't make it any less bothersome.

Well, that ruled out surgical strikes. Wholesale slaughter it was, then. Somehow, Harry couldn't bring himself to care.

And this would, then, allow him to test drive his powers.

Closing his eyes for a brief second, Harry turned his focus inwards. Glyphs glowed all over his body for a brief second, as the deepest sleeping of his powers came to life. Every battle-ritual he'd ever done was then activated, and readied for use.

Both his hands, from the wrist down, became enveloped in white flame. Magic poured from his body, as his teeth elongated into fangs, while claws emerged from the fingernails. Wave after wave of magic poured out of him, as his skin acquired the telltale glint of scales, and his pupils became narrow slits, as of a dragon.

A dark chuckle emerged from his lips, as he descended like a hawk, letting lose a wide, crescent shaped bolt of magic. A sadistic grin manifested on his face, as the soldiers below scattered like rats, all to no avail as their bodies rotted cleanly through their armors, while the magic animating other objects simply ceased to be.

Immediately after that, he let loose a series of fireballs, each several meters in diameter in the beginning, and growing as it fell. They hit the disoriented soldiers in the fraction of a second, roasting alive tens of thousands of expendables and hundreds that were not.

It was after this that that Harry saw chariots and Hippogriff-mounted cavalry take to the air. He let them come near, before speaking out a spell of War magic. Immediately, magic poured out of his whole body, enveloping him in a sphere. The cavalry didn't stop, no doubt thinking it some sort of defense.

They couldn't have been more wrong. A second after it formed, the whole sphere acquired a very specific flavor of magic.

One of conjuration.

Hippogriff parts, wheels, scrap metal and human limbs alike rained out of the sky, as thousands upon thousands of bladed weapons rained on them in speeds that ran to over 2000 mph. Some of them had raised shields, yes, but the weapons were reinforced Iron.

After that Harry aimed another volley of fireballs, at the spots the air defenders had launched from (finding them out was the reason he'd been hanging up there anyway). As they approached, several hasty shields were thrown up, with about as much effectiveness as a sheet of polythene against an artillery shell.

As soon as Harry confirmed that any air power there was had been suitably crisped, he descended to the Earth. As he did, Zar-roc (the name he'd decided upon eventually) appeared into Harry's hand. Seeing this, swords, guns, RPGs were swiftly drawn by the defenders themselves.

Well, it doesn't take a Master's degree to figure out what happened next.

It took a long time, sure, and more than a few serious injuries were sustained by Harry. But the end result was never in the doubt. With the holders of the wards dead, they had gone into lockdown, but wards based on substandard wardstones and cast by shady, back-alley enchanters (the top notch ones all being with either the stronger parties of Harry himself), were far from being a problem for him.

The scene was repeated, with similar results, six more times, while tech, crews descended on the smoking ruins that were left behind, sweeping them clean of anything valuable and the bottling the castles, while landing previously bottled fortresses there. Each of them had been warded and enchanted personally by Harry, and each carried enough animated and other non-living-magical defenses to withstand just about anything. In any case, once the tech crews were finished replacing the keystones, calibrating the wardstones to protect the fortresses, and setting up the defensive networks, they took rooms there, in the form of the skeleton crews of the strongholds.

While this was happening, the vassals were busy taking out the main fortresses.

As set out in the plan, the main army was camped out in front of the buildings, at the exact maximum limits of their artillery's range. This had an advantageous effect no one could have foreseen, in that the distance placed them out of range for the defenders' weapons, and increasing the range accordingly added yet another burden to the already overtaxed keystones.

And the real goals of the whole operations were being carried out right under the defenders' noses all this time.

"Hurry it along a bit, will you?" said the girl called Jennifer Austins, who, not a long time ago, had been a simple village girl. Upon being given a full education in a matter of weeks, it had been discovered that she had considerable talent for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, which made her perfect for Enchanting and Warding-related work.

And that was how she was here, as the number two to the leader of tech. team Zulu.

"I'm trying, girl. Just wait." Her boss, a Peverell family vassal by the name of Alfred Montis said, well used to her feigned impatience.

The work wasn't easy, in all fairness. They were crouching here, in the jeep that was parked at the exact edge of the Fortress wards, serving also as the anchor for their own wards. The man was leaning out, casting an endless series of spells.

What he was doing was very, very delicate work. To put it simply, wards around the building were a spherical structure, encompassing the whole plot, extending the exact distance both above and below the ground. It was a familiar schema to the men, being near-enough impregnable to all conventional and most unconventional means. They had no irregularities, no gaps, the spells comprising them shaped into thin but unbreakable threads, interlocking again and again in the air around them to form a web that covered each and every square centimeter of the surface area of the sphere.

For all of that, it was a rather stupid scheme to use, given that ninety-nine percent of the time both the keystones and the wardstones _had to be _located at the exact centre of the sphere. So… once someone knew how to beat it, the rest was a piece of cake.

And these people did know.

Jennifer watched entranced, as under the careful coaxing of the man's spells, one by one the threads comprising the ward matrix lit up in her visor. She saw the concealment spells quietly and effectively neutralized, by simply shifting their ranges so that instead of covering the whole area, they left a 10x5 foot area bare, doubling back on its surroundings instead.

They could have remained the spells entirely, but it would have triggered alarms. After the needed area was exposed, her boss stepped away, letting her and the rest of the three team members go to work. They pulled out a small case, from which they pulled out what looked like a folded ruler at first sight.

As a matter of fact it was a foldable doorframe, and they unfolded it, creating a 7x4 frame that was set straight in front of the ward screen. After that they pulled out from the same case four thin, foot long rods, which were fixed into the frame at its corners. At their other ends (the one poking out in the air) were glyphs, all of them currently glowing a bright red.

The frame fixed, they turned, as the well oiled machine that they were, back to the case, which was now empty. Alfred probed its bottom till he found what he was looking for, as slight irregularity. As soon as he found it, he pressed his fingers in a rough circle around it.

In a few seconds, his fingerprints had been scanned, and Jennifer knew that then it was the turn for magic. She kept her eyes focused as, keeping his fingers in the same position, he channeled a bit of magic down them. Once his magical signature was identified, he altered the flow, creating several fluctuations that, while too minor for her visor to detect, she could sense by her own magic sense.

She studied them carefully, till she confirmed that it was one of the hundred single-use patterns they'd both been taught.

Once the pattern of fluctuations matched with what had been fed into the box previously, a new surface appeared. It wasn't much, just four glyphs, the exact mirror images of the ones on the frame. As one, all members of the team except for the leader put their wands to the glyphs. The next seconds, their wand signatures were recognized, and the glyphs glowed white.

Good. The system was now on. Immediately afterwards, the glow turned red, causing them to remove their wands. What the red glow indicated was that currently the binding spells, that is, the spells that were there to ensure that the other spells stayed in the correct position and on the correct strength, were on full power.

After that it was a waiting game. With the hammering the wards were taking, two things could happen. One was, the wards would falter, at the exact threshold between the 'safe' and the 'collapse imminent' stages (the terminology had to be different for the enemies, but the point remained). Or, the defenders would somehow boost those wards, strengthening them.

Either way, the fixed state would cease. The wards would be malleable in the transition state, irrespective of whether the transition was upwards or downwards. It wouldn't be a very long window, two or three seconds at the most, but it was all that was needed to get the magical tethers in, and begin the unraveling process.

Just begin, mind you. Even after that it would take a long time.

And a long time was what it did take. As things turned out, the defenders opted to let the wards weaken and fall, opting to put their faith in their active defenses.

Stupid thing to do, really, but then they weren't to know, were they.

Still, after that it was just as they had been trained. As soon as the wards flickered for the first time, the glyphs on the board turned green, signifying readiness. Quick as anything, all four placed the tips of their wands on the signals, beginning a series of spells meant to slowly disable the wards within the area of the frame.

It was delicate work, to say the least. The ward structure depended on the threads of magic meeting at two diametrically opposite points, exactly a certain distance above and below the centre of the circular plot of land over which they were cast. This was the key.

If the strings disconnected for even one fraction of a second (as in if someone or something interrupted them), the spells went active, releasing their effects. It was this system, exactly, that had to be subverted to make an undetected entrance, and that was what was being done.

There was a gaping weakness in the system. While the threads being broken was easily detected (and the backbone of the system), the threads meeting wasn't. So, a capable magic user could find their way with a very specific method.

They all watched, as under the careful urging of their magic, the threads started to meet along the circumference of the frame. Knot after knot was created, string overlapped, coincided, and interconnected, creating, and this was the point, really, an exact simulation of the connection point below the Earth.

Slowly, as thread after thread combined at the circumference, they ceased to be inside the area itself. This continued for over an hour, till it was over, and the door shaped frame served as an actual doorway into the wards.

Of course, that wasn't all. They worked on, casting spell after spell at the grounds, testing for other wards. It was unlikely, as the strain of multiple ward schema would be unbearable for the substandard keystones intelligence said these guys had, but it was just possible.

Thankfully, it wasn't.

Spell after spell showed the same result. Grounds Clear. There was another set of wards on the building itself, but it would be easy for them to crack.

So it was with a light mood that the team reported their success to the CO. they received their orders, which were to move in and execute their primary objective, the replacement of the keystones, while leaving behind one member to oversee the entry of the Hunter squads that would carry out _their _primary objective.

All in all, it was a matter of come hours, before their work was done. The fortress of the League of Novgorod had fallen to the Ouroboros Alliance.

The same, although Austin didn't need to know about it and therefore hadn't, had happened to two other fortresses, and several minor ones. In every case, the victory was exactly as it had been predicted to be, and the direst contingencies that had to be invoked was an H-class (with A being the original plan, and B, C, D being worse ones progressively).

It was a testament to what they had been repeatedly told, that well made plans did, in fact, survive contact with the enemy, and as a matter of fact it was the enemy that wasn't supposed to survive contact with them.

Still, well made or not, the plans had worked, the opposition had fallen, and all of a sudden, the most powerful faction in the Russian Civil war were the Strassinovs, in their new partnership with the Ouroboros Alliance.

Now it would be another day worth of landing castles, bases, factories, casting wards, spells, linking enchantments, before the men could rest.

* * *

aand that's it. The longest chapter I have ever written, and one of the most important.

Now any compliments, complaints, flames, random trivia or snide remarks, that you wanna give me? You know what to do about that.

Meanwhile, special thanks to my beta, Teufel1987, who, while he hasn't yet gotten around to return a beta-ed copy of this chapter, has been a tremendous help all around.

See ya people

blackshadow


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